I appear to have lost my momentum. I am hoping it is just a temporary state: home is a less quiet place at the moment with young visitors, and work is busy and demanding. At the moment, most of the time I just don’t really feel like writing, but once I start I can usually write our a furious five-hundred words or so: which is better than nothing. Still, it is the actual act of picking up my notepad and pen that seems to thwart me: the time never feels quite right, the place not comfortable enough and my mind not aptly focused on the task.
I suppose this happens to the best of us and the antidote is to power through the distractions and continue regardless until we have rediscovered the nugget of truth that marks writing out as who we are, rather than something we do. In the end I guess such behaviour is what identifies the true writer from the amateur: when in doubt true writer’s write while the rest of us surrender to the occasional stab at the romantic life of what we believe a writer to be.
So, as I highlighted somewhere in this blog not too long ago, through the link to a very wise individual: the answer to my problem is simple.
I MUST WRITE.