A confession...

I have a confession to make and it might be a shocker:

Sometimes…I don’t like writing.

Okay, for any writer, that’s a no brainer. Really. You know what I’m talking about. Sitting down in front of the computer or a piece of paper and taking the pen in hand and…nothing. Not a line, not a word, not a nothing. You just keep staring at the blinking cursor and wishing that something would come pouring out. Anything to make the screen less intimidating. Sometimes, I just tap a letter and let it fill the screen. Stupid, but relaxing. The worst is when you have a story, you’re in the middle of it and suddenly…nothing. Your mind takes a vacation and you have no idea when it’s coming back. Damn thing!

When those moments happen, I try to keep busy. I have song lists that would make any musician proud. My desk is so clean you can eat off it. The floors…bugs don’t dare tread on it since I’m on watch for them. All the time spent on that and the screen still stares at back at me, mocking in its emptiness. Grrr…

For a while there, I used to read, anything really, but I stopped that. I find that when I read and write, my style starts to resemble whatever it is that I’m reading and that can be a bad thing when reading crap. Okay, not crap…just stuff that I really don’t like and can’t get into. There, more PC. I tell my husband that I need an assistant to help with everything, but in reality, I don’t. If I did, what would I do when my mind left and I had nothing to do? So I trudge on…hoping that my mind comes back and brings a gift with it.

Like right now.

I’m writing this blog post because I need to be working on a story that my critique partner and I are working on. But my mind said ‘next week’ and left before I could catch it. Now, I’m staring at this story, with the knowledge of what I need to do and nothing to do it with. Damn brain, you’d better come quickly!
On top of that, it took with it the other story that I was working on, the ménage I’d referenced.

I’m not going to get anything done other than editing, am I?