Sometimes you just need a little boost to get a clear signal.
The don't-get-up-from-that-chair-until-you-hit-one-thousand-words goal doesn't apply. I'm still writing like a fiend but with real-life stuff. It's my fiction writing that's taking the hit. The problem is that I really want to be making stuff up and writing it down. I don't want to be consumed with the issues numbing me. But life can get complicated. It's an iceberg/Titanic kind of thing. My writing life was sailing along until crunch! Creativity sank but life's damned iceberg continued on its merry way.
That iceberg took a long time to form. Family dynamics chilled relationships well beyond cold shoulders and icy stares. The deceptive slick of lies like black ice made normal conversations almost deadly.
You may think you've never heard writer's block described like this before. My writing isn't blocked as much as it has taken on a different shape like the trees in the picture. I want to make up characters and create the bad things that happen to them. Crystallized in that block of ice are good people frozen in fear because of the wrong turns made when familiar landmarks gave way to the weight of the cold.
So, I'm journaling and writing down events and thoughts because I know I'm at a point of transition. I'm at a point where the mist is lifting, more with the promise of sunlight than a break in the clouds.
The signal is getting stronger as the air warms. I'm no longer frozen into inaction. I've enjoyed the stillness of my artic world, but life didn't flourish.
[BTW: That picture? I took it with my cell phone at the summit of Mount Sunapee. It's full color, no filters, and I related to it way too much.]
