I’m struggling here, folks.

There was once a time when I spent a lot of my free time writing. There was little - or nothing - better than losing myself in a world I created. There was no better high than when I thought of some awesome little twist to my story, or when I reread something that I had written really well. When I wasn’t actively writing, I was daydreaming about where I would take my story next, or “getting to know” some of my characters. Every so often, I’d hit a snag - a problem in the story or a gap that I didn’t know how to bridge, but although those could be hair-pulling moments, I usually found a way to make it all work.

By far the worst thing ever was when I’d want to write, but just couldn’t think of a goddamn idea.

That’s where I am now. As I’ve mentioned before, I’ve been neglecting my writerly side. And that’s all right, I suppose, because it’s not like I wasn’t doing anything at all. I moved, made a new life for myself, got a brand new job, met Neal and developed an awesome relationship… But. There’s still that writerly side, and it’s become rusty and crabby, and with Neal away, it’s harder and harder to tune out that rusty and crabby writerly voice urging me to “get on with it already and write a damn story!”

It’s not like I haven’t been trying. Maybe not my best attempts, but I have tried. I’ve come up with a couple of ideas. A few I remember are: my version of an Irish folktale; a character with post-traumatic stress disorder; historical fiction set in Newfoundland. But I abandoned all of these ideas. They just weren’t right. Recently, it occurred to me that perhaps I should try re-writing that faery book since I liked the original idea. But the truth is, I want something new.

But what?

I’ve been through this before. The harder I try to come up with an idea, the worse my writer’s block becomes. Then, just as I’m giving up and figuring I will never ever write again, an idea suddenly springs to mind like my Muse suddenly realizes I’m about to put him into retirement and panics.

Um, Mr. Muse? Can you start panicking now?

It just drives me nuts. One of my plans was to use the time Neal is away by writing. Sorta put a silver lining on it all, y’know? I wanted to formulate an idea and start writing, get the juices flowing. One might argue that I’m putting too much pressure on myself and that’s why I can’t come up with anything decent, but this has been the case for over a year now. Trust me - I haven’t been pressuring myself all that much.

Maybe it will start coming back to me now that I’m reading more like I used to. That was another thing that kind of went by the wayside when I first moved out here. Sure, I read, but it was sporadic and I found I didn’t pay attention the way I used to - even with books by authors I love. Diana Gabaldon’s The Fiery Cross and A Breath of Snow and Ashes? I’m sure they are quite wonderful, just like her other books, and I know that I enjoyed them to some extent, but do I remember anything all that important? Not really - just tidbits and only when other people bring them up. Now, though, I’m reading a lot more regularly and enjoying what I’m reading. And “they” do say that a writer needs to read more than he/she writes.

I sure as hell hope so. Because this blows. It feels like I’ve lost a part of myself that was so important to me for most of my life.

If anyone knows of some unique ways to spark creativity, be sure to let me know!