It’s an old song and dance routine we know all too well. We sang it in our darkest moments. We sang it in the remote recesses of our mind, it’s melody carried us off to slumber in those long insomniac nights. I’m talking about writer’s block. It’s such a sweet siren’s song, isn’t it.
I would be incredibly dishonest to say my absence was caused by writer’s block. More like life getting away from me (more on that in another post) mixed with a touch of the devil’s potion (um, I’m talking about the writer’s block, here–trying to be poetic). I’m learning to finish what I start. So, a positive goal to shoot for would be a PEN Fellowship, right? Emerging Voices and all that?
They say crippling self-doubt comes with the territory of being a writer and what I’m feeling can best be described as a mix of paralyzing fear with the smallest tinge of hope. I’m learning to work through the fear, but in the interests of honesty, I’m fucking terrified.
Nothing for which one strives often comes easy and if the jack-hammering heart palpitations are any indication, this won’t be easy either. But life is an adventure so they say and I’m gonna ride the bitch like a bronco. So, wish me luck everyone.