Was writing so much I got scared, so I stopped. Big mistake.

I can’t stop erasing this first sentence. My God, am I ever going to get out of this loop?

Few weeks ago I came back to my blog. I missed writing, or rather, I got tired of all the notebooks just sitting on my desk. When one filled, I’d reach for another and another, which was sort of fine, but eventually some part of me started wanting my writing to go further than my desk.  Some ephemeral, but essential, and equally fun part of being a writer was missing.  So I came back to the blog.

I started by doing some Blogging U exercises. God I’d forgotten home much fun it is to create a post, to be gently pulled. To lose track of hours. To be engaged in that way—I’ll just say it: it’s better than sex. And I’ve has some, you know, great. Um. Whatever.

All fine except I noticed I hadn’t left the house in three days, then four. I was forgetting to eat until late at night, and staying in my bathrobe later and later into the day until it was all day. I was forgetting to, you know, pee. I got scared. Go outside and play, for Christ’s sake.  Binge-watch a little Netflix.  So I did. And didn’t write for a few days.

And today I couldn’t.

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This is one of the most creatively difficult afternoons I’ve had in a long time (and I’ve had some difficult creative periods over the years. That were years). An hour ago I didn’t think I’d get over this hump. I felt mildly panicked. Thank God I remembered this: “Start writing, not matter what. The water does not flow until the faucet is turned on.” Thank you, Louis L’Amour.

What a delicate thing a creative habit can be. The balancing involved. Over-engaged or under-engaged. I don’t think I could handle another not engaged.

There are some hair-pin turns on this path.