It's one thing to hit a wall or face the empty page. I've dealt with writer's block before. It's yet another to be so burned out from working so much that you can't even muster the desire to get past the blocks. I have the editor's feedback to deal with. I have some really great suggestions from my nephew and his wife to pursue. I have a line by line edit from someone in my writers' group to evaluate and incorporate. I have my middle-grade fiction to write. I have blogging and my writers' group in which to involve myself. I have the holiday season to acknowledge, Christmas spirit to muster.
But these last few weeks, I haven't even wanted to want to do any of it. I spend so much time on obligations and have-to-dos that all of this looks like excess, like stuff I ought to do but can't face right now. All of it. I have been so driven for so long. But now, the writing bus has four busted tires and is up on cinder blocks. About all the energy and ambition I can muster is to do a little editing on one of my manuscripts. I can't even summon the desire to read it to my husband. I'm not even sure why this wall is even here. I know it has something to do with all the teaching I've done this semester. Probably a lot to do with it. I'm just hoping this wall tumbles down as soon as this semester is over, so I can enjoy the Christmas spirit and hop back on that writing bus.
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