After ten solid years of writing, years which included nine novels, six novellas, two non-fiction books, and over two-thousand short stories and essays, I find myself in a weird place.
No, it’s not writer’s block. I have plenty of ideas. Hell, I’ve got two novels which are both partially-written at the time of this writing, and I have countless ideas for short stories bouncing around in my head.
It’s more a matter of concentration and desire, or a lack thereof. I’m simply not enthralled with writing at this moment, and I haven’t been for at least a month now. Writing has been a passion of mine for so long now that it seems strange not to be consumed by it, but that’s where I find myself. There are other things I would rather do. I would rather walk the dogs. I would rather work on projects in the backyard. I would rather do research about RVs and daydream about taking a prolonged RV adventure. I would rather spend time with Bev.
Maybe the heat of the summer has zapped me of my desire to write. Maybe this is some post-pandemic mental lull. Or maybe it is something more long-lasting. Whatever it is, my writing output is diminishing and I don’t much care whether it is or not. It’s not that I don’t enjoy writing any longer; it’s just that I don’t enjoy doing as much of it as I once did.
It is what it is, simple as that. One way or another, it will all work out. I’ll just get up each morning and do what feels right for me, and we’ll see where that takes me.
In the meantime, take care. Be good to yourself. I’ll catch you down the Road of Life. I’m not going anywhere. I just won’t be nearly as prolific as I have been for over a decade, and the frequency of when I publish this blog will reflect that.
Bill
“Helping writers to spread their wings and fly.”
Billybuc
Artistry With Words 