Hi, my name's Loren, and I haven't written for a month.
One of the nice things about blogging is that it keeps me honest. I mean, you can't really regularly post about the craft and then not put it into practice if you don't want your conscience yelping at you every time you hit the publish button. Usually, writing and blogging work synchronously, each rolling into the other in a pleasing feedback loop.
That sure hasn't happened recently, though.
The trouble wasn't that the ideas wouldn't come. In my life, muses went the way of the dinosaur some time ago, and (in my very humble opinion) eliminating the need for external inspiration offers nothing but upside for a writer. No, new plots and characters kept on popping up. I just had no desire to put them in print.
Call it what you like -- laziness, apathy, fatigue. All I know is that shuffling stuff from my mind to paper felt Sisyphean. Everything needed to birth a story was there except the will to bring it forth. It's a depressing place to dwell, a sojourn in a dry land with no oasis in sight.
And then last Sunday it bubbled back up, that yearning to create, cool and sweet as it's ever been. Why did it return? I haven't the foggiest. But I do know I'm going to drink deeply of it for as long as I can.
(Picture: CC 2007 by DraconianRain)