You sit and try to write. Blank page staring back at you but the words won’t flow. Not like they used to. Not today at least. Hell, for me not this week.
It has been one of those horrible weeks where every word I type feels like I am pulling teeth. I just finished up the second draft of my book. So I figured I would take a few days off. Give my brain a rest before I started my third draft.
Sunday morning I sat down to write. I had a goal of editing ten chapters, whole day was dedicated to writing. Easy enough of a goal, right? The husband was off fishing and it was me, my pajamas and my laptop. Only everything seemed to distract me. From the dog we are watching thinking the tortoise was a chew toy to ooh, shiny stupid reality show.
Normally when I find myself stuck I set down the writing to work on some visual art. Either knitting or coloring (because yes, I am an adult coloring book junky), something to change my focus for just a little bit before diving back in.
Only this week it hasn’t worked. After the third time that I had to unravel a shawl I started knitting I threw it down on to the coffee table in a huff. “I feel creatively blocked!”
The husband looked up at me. “Maybe it’s because it’s not what you should be creative with right now.”
Maybe he was right.
Well, three days later I’m still trudging along. When I can’t focus on editing anymore, I work on a blog post. And I read. If I can’t find inspiration in my own words, perhaps I can find inspiration from others.
But I refuse to call it writers block. I refuse to give in.