It's September 11th, which is not just the anniversary of all those terrible losses but also, of one of the few days in my life I've felt super happy in every conceivable way, right up until I started getting e-mail to go check the TV. I'd finished a big writing project the night before and was heading off to meet a girlfriend for a gabfest and tea to celebrate and the sun was shining and... yeah.
I was thinking last night that I've been writing ferociously for about a year now, after a spotty performance since the few months following that day, and now here I am 10 days into a dry spell and it's kind of weird. Not scary - self-imposed breaks so you can clean the toilet and put the house back together and conquer the laundry mountain range and all that stuff are not even remotely like writer's block - but weird.
I'm thinking I should get back at it. If I'm not inspired with something good for the old-lady-vs.-chair story and I don't feel like trying out my new idea for overhauling the tricky first chapter of the novel, I can always do my critique of a friend's two short stories.
Or I could knit! Okay, I admit it - there's just the teeniest chance that if I knit until my carpal tunnel has my wrist throbbing, I'd finish the back today. I know, I know! and I just started on Tuesday afternoon! It's so exciting.