I've been stuck for a while. I hate to even admit that because I don't get stuck. At least, that's what I always say when people sidle up to complain about writer's block. I know it's real, I just don't experience it. Or rather, I didn't think I experienced it.
Lately, writing has just been blah. When I force myself, I can write, and the stuff isn't bad. It's just not awesome. And I'm not feeling the buzz. Feeling the awesome.
Instead, I've been doing a lot of lounging. I've learned how to make amurigami. I've watched TV and movies. And probably eaten too much chocolate.
And I've been feeling down.
If you know me, you probably gasped at that admission. I'm a very positive person (probably even the annoying kind of positive), so I don't get depressed. And yet...my bra, pants and makeup would tell you otherwise because I've spent a month eschewing them because when you're lounging around the house, you don't care about such things.
I've been trying to solve the problem of my apathy this whole time and have been drawing a blank.
Until, in the middle of watching Emma. the other day with my husband, I had to pause the show and declare, "Maybe my problem is that I'm not writing what's speaking to me!" He just looked at me like, duh. Of course he knew the solution to my problem, but it was so obvious he figured I already knew.
Sometimes you need to be reminded of things you already know but have forgotten. Right? (Tell me, right.)
Just a few days prior to this spark of brilliance, I'd been telling him about this new story that just wouldn't shut up. I wake up with it in my head, think, think, think, about it, but then...do nothing about it. Because it wasn't the right time for that story. I'm supposed to be writing the next Minnie book.
But am I?
Who said that's what it had to be? I can't find my rule book, but I'm pretty sure there's nothing in it about what you write and when.
And even if there was, I've embraced being a rebel in my life so, to heck with that, Ima gonna write what I want to write!