I don’t feel like writing. You might think that it’s rather ironic considering that you’re reading this, but really and truly when I woke up this morning this is not what I intended to write. I knew I was going to write something, I’ve even set my self a word goal. I want to write, the stories are all there, the characters are all alive and very vibrant, they want their stories told. So It’s not them.
It’s not for the lack of inspiration, lord help me there is so much around me to rant about, to scream about even. There are triumphs to shout from the mountain tops and there are sorrows spill, but still I can’t write. Or more rather the spirit that animates my fingers to give voice to all these things is absent somehow.
It’s not like other times, where I’m at the pinnacle of frustration or tiredness, where I am overly over stressed and can’t focus, or angry or…what ever other excuse I’ve used in the past to justify my tepid reaction to the prospect of writing…anything at all.
I won’t even go as far as to call this writers block. Because the stories continue to unfold, and the characters continue to evolve, but I just can’t seem to write it down.
I’m bothered by my literary impotence, but not to my usual angry frustration, mainly because it’s not due to any of the usual suspects. It’s more, at this point, like numbness that has settled on my shoulders and pulled me to an immeasurable distance from things.
I don’t know what to call this. Does it even have a name? Does anyone else go through this? …..Sigh…..