I've been feeling uninspired the last few days to write about writing, or to write at all. It may be the heat. It may be because I put too many irons on the fire, so to speak, and I'm starting to feel overwhelmed w/ all my projects. It may be that I just need time to pause and think about all of this stuff. It may be that I've been neglecting to clean my apartment, and certainly a messy home is not condusive to writing.
And yet, I've been up for a half hour and I want to write something... I just don't know what.
I've just sat here for a good three minutes, staring outside my window.
I'm trying to think of something specific to the craft to discuss. Or revision. But I got nuthin' right now. I'm not in the mood to discuss any of my projects in particular. Good grief, what happened to all that wonderful energy in May? I should've known that it doesn't last.
So let me say this, then. A writer's life is paradoxically very routine as it is ever-changing. At least mine is. The momentum ebbs and flows. I get up, I do my things, Iwrite, I go to bed. But sometimes I pace around the house, distract myself, procrastinate. I go places to be an observer or even a participant so that I can write about them in some form at another time. I think.
That's about all I've got in me for today. I think I'll go clean my house now.