Well, it's been a while.
More than.
One could almost say it's a rebirth of sorts, or maybe it makes me a born-again blogging virgin... judging from how painful it is to write a blog post right now either one probably works as a description of my inner life right now.
I have not, in fact, been writing much lately. Life hasn't allowed for many breathers and I just haven't found the energy, somehow, to give myself over to the page.
That's what it's like, you see. When I write, I lose myself in worlds of ink and paper (I'm old fashioned that way). I don't hear the doorbell, don't answer my email, don't pay attention to the fact that it's way past midnight and I should be catching a few hours of precious sleep. It's just me and my story. That's not to say I write from start to finish (in fact the 'finish' factor is a real problem for me). I write snippets of my story, conversations, unconnected scenes, descriptions of settings through various characters' eyes, even bits and pieces of their dreams, their hopes, potential diary entries or letters they might write.
But even so, I lose myself in it, and I've been afraid to let myself get lost lately. Do you ever feel that way? I feel it every time I face my notebook, and all those empty lines... is it, perhaps, a variant of that dreaded blank page phobia that so many writers talk about? Whatever it is, I need to get over it.
Do you have a fear of that empty page? Is it the starting you're afraid of (the joys of commitment), or the actual doing (like me), or perhaps the finishing (which I believe I'm afraid of, too)?
