I take my journal to lunch with me. It’s my regular noontime companion. Why? BecauseI have this romantic notion that lunch in the park will invariably inspire me to write something profound.

It hasn’t.

That’s a problem, because I insist on having this dream of writing. Being a Writer. Yes, a Writer with a capital W. But lately I’ve been doing much more reading than writing. I’ve been completely uninspired. So much that yesterday I actually wrote five pages in said journal bemoaning the experience of having nothing to write about. Seriously. You’d think that somewhere in all of my moaning and groaning there would be a kernel of inspiration.

Not even a speck. I’m confounded. Not only that, I’m stymied. See? I’ve got all of these really good words and nowhere to use them. And what makes it worse is that I’ve had plenty of time to write this week due to the glacial pace of Big Real Estate lately.

Lots of time plus an absence of ideas equals a frustrated me. And right now the irony of this isn’t lost on me, truly. I mean how much more ironic could this get? Blogging about the absence of any ideas to write about? Really? Only in my head, I’m sure.

Hopefully Some Great Inspiration will pop up immediately after posting this. Hopefully. Maybe. What about you? How do you deal with mental blocks and frustration?

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Filed under Blogging, creativity, Writer's Block, writing

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