My writing distraction? Oh, that’s simple: I, me, myself.
It’s a curious state of being, to be a writer. Sometimes the words flow so quickly, your hands rush to keep up as they burst out. These are days when the blank page and blink of cursor projects joy instead of fear. The blinking cursor, the stained nib of a pen is ripe with the music of possibilities and scenes, gestures, entire dialogues, and plot points come unbidden until you’re mad with the need to jot it all down before it all slithers away like a half-forgotten dream.
And then there are days when you have to clutch at conjugations in hope that a thin straw will help you from drowning in dread. Hours when language seems to lose all meaning and insensible verbs claw at your chest, unable to decide if they want out or wish to stay in. These are the times when your own self, a mere shadow of a passing thought can appear as dazzling as a meteor shower and beguile you away.
These are the times you must stay resilient…