In general, I'm not a big believer in writer's block. ["Strike her dead," I hear writers out there screaming. "She's clearly not a real writer." Maybe. Maybe not.] I can write on and on about anything and everything. I'm not saying it's good stuff, mind you, just saying that it always seems to flow.
I have hit a roadblock, though, and I fear I am making excuses for my inability to work on my novel. There was the weekend the dog sitter had a party and we were robbed. That was a big time suck. Weekends are out because the kids are around. The vacation last week sucked away any chance of writing. And now Pete needs a bypass, and my mind has just kept twisting that into tighter and tighter and smaller and smaller knots.
I've had a couple of splitting headaches the last two days. Such that I can actually see colors. And without the accompanying good vibes one would normally associate with seeing colors if one had the pharmaceutical-using background that I possess. [If you don't get that, just move along. Move along.]
I've got a word count deadline to meet, people. I don't have time for this shit!
What next? There is one thing I have learned in this long life of mine: never ask, "What next?" because Someone will show you something worse.