I’m feeling decidedly uninspired this week when it comes to talking about writing. I’ve been sitting on a bunch of stories, and not really doing much with them. This happens periodically, this need to recharge my batteries. Instead of writing, I’m busy reading my way through the library.
I’m occasionally reading things other than novels during my break. I think this post from Dori Ostermiller is lovely, and very pertinent to the way I’ve been feeling of late. There is this place, this incredibly vulnerable space in writing, where to follow something to its truest point I must stop thinking about the world outside my head. It is both the simplest and most difficult place I’ve ever been, and it’s the reason I write.
I think that’s as far as I go with that thought today. I have tired children waiting for bed, and a stack of books waiting to be read.