I love to write. I start out in the zone and nothing can stop me. Then I get about half-way through and the words stall out. I try to knock out the concept and no matter what I write it seems lame. I try again. Lame, again. Write, delete, write, delete, cry, slam computer closed and stomp away ticked off.
I may not actually do this, every time, but it’s an all-to-frequent occurrence. I show up to write, but nothing gels.
I have so many thoughts and ideas bouncing around in my brain and heart that I can’t get them out fast enough. I feel like a volcano that’s telling the hot, ready-to-erupt, lava: “Hold on a sec there, hot lava. Don’t come out yet.”
All day I tell my inner-voice, “You can come out one hour here before the kids wake up, and maybe during nap if everyone sleeps, or tonight if laundry’s caught up.” Then when the time comes to put fingers to keys, my inner-voice takes a hike while my right pinky finger gets all too familiar with the delete key.
This, my writing friends, is not writer’s block. This is something much more serious-