I don’t have anything to talk about because I haven’t been writing. Haven’t been because I have zero desire to. Usually the characters yammer away at me, constantly poke at me, demand I write. That is not happening right now. Not with the story I’ve barely begun or with anyone new trying to push their way in.
It’s a little unsettling. A little weird. It’s certainly not normal for my brain (not that anything about my brain can be considered normal). What’s weirder still is that I feel okay with it. It’s not upsetting me to any great degree. Normally I’d be all bent out of shape and whinging on because nothing I was trying to write was working. But yeah. that’s not the case here.
I’ve said I was giving up the writing. I’ve pretended I was serious about it. Those who know me best don’t believe a word of it. They are right, of course. And I could rationalize about six different reason as to why the writing isn’t happening right now. Three of them are even legitimate.
So, anyway, right now the writing isn’t happening, and I’m not going to beat myself up about it, or push at it, for at least another couple of weeks. I’m sure by then I’ll start panicking if I haven’t been inspired. But right now? I’m okay letting it sit.