I am, it seems temporarily stuck in a bit of a writing block.
It is not a lack of ideas. I definitely have the story outlined for the fifth novel in The Saga of Magiskeep, and know exactly where the story needs to go.
What I seem to be lacking is motivation to write at the moment. I certainly have time. Living here in New Jersey, the State of Eternal Winter, I'm not doing much of anything besides staying indoors. I've had several substitute teaching jobs, I still sing in the church choir, and I have plenty of snow outside to shovel and plow--I have a tractor with a front end loader.
|Snow piles like a writer's block.|
There is no real reason not to simply sit down here at the computer and start typing. The words are there. They've been roaming around in my head for days.
What's stopping my fingers from putting them on the page?
It's hard to say, but I actually do think the weather has something to do with it. The tedium of days and days of bitter cold, and the constant sight of white out the window certainly doesn't inspire too much creativity. I think my frustration with the weather has spilled over into the rest of my life.
As most of you know, I am a horseback rider and horse owner. I have three horses right here in the back yard of my house. Watching them cope with the weather is an interesting pastime. They, like me, are caught up in the utter ennui of too many days of monotonous cold, snow covered days.
They are just standing around, not even bothering to do much more than eat the hay I put out for them and to grump at each other. All three are dressed in winter blankets designed to protect them from the cold and wet, although they would do just fine without them. They have plenty of shelter from the weather, and unlike humans, the cold really doesn't bother them too much.
But the lack of something to do is another story. The result has been a pile of ripped blankets. Horses do not play nicely. They chase each other with teeth and hoof as a part of some pretty rough horse games. One of their favorites is grab the blanket and hold on. If the other guy gets away unscathed so be it. But more often than not, the blanket does not escape undamaged.
Right now, two of Tucker's blankets are on the back porch awaiting a stitch or hundred in time. Chance is wearing a blanket I stitched back together while he was wearing it, and Tucker's third blanket of the season is currently sporting a rather large duct tape bandage. (Yes, duct tape will one day save the world.) I had to buckle Toby's blanket in front in place of the snap clip that was broken off.
The only hope left is that the weather forecasts are right and the cold will break next week. Blankets will come off and teeth proven waterproof sheets will go on instead until Spring really does arrive.
In the meantime, in between blanket swaps, I will do my best to get some words down on the pages as my mind stares out into the blank white expanse of winter.
Writer's block appears to be like one of those piles of snow out along my driveway. Sunshine and thaw should melt it just fine.
|Tucker and his "wounded" blanket.|