Wow. It's been a long time since I've written anything. Well, anything booky. I've forgotten the ebb and flow of the process. The stretches of silence from my brain as it struggles to come up with what comes next.
I've written and rewritten this scene in my head so many times. And yet, that did little to help it flow easily onto the page. The only thing that ever helps is just taking the time that it takes. Letting things jell and move as they will. Eating a snack or getting caffeine to stimulate the creativity. Even those small breaks, getting up from the chair and moving around, gives my mind time to pull forth something. Five seconds gives me another sentence. A minute gives me another paragraph. All I need is time and I can write the world.
Or not. I'm just waiting for a day where nothing comes. Where I can't think of anything to write. Where even pulling another word out is too much to ask. And yet, after writing twenty-four books, writer's block has never been a problem for me. I think the day that it happens is the day I die. But which will cause which.
