I came here to write.
My favorite coffee shop. I have a tab here. I’m a regular. Everybody knows me. (But to be fair, most of them knew me before they opened the coffee shop.)
I came here to write, dammit. Where are the ideas? Where’s the excitement? Where are the rushing waves of creativity?
They’re probably still asleep in my bed.
I wanted to write for an hour today. Just to start a habit. Be consistent. Prevent myself from forgetting projects, or from not blogging for a month.
All I want to do is nap.
I wouldn’t call it writer’s block. Creativity is a fickle friend, though. Sometimes it’s so intense I can’t stop. New stories, new posts, new songs.
Sometimes it abandons you without word. You stand alone in the cold.
You sit in a coffee shop surfing pinterest.
It’s not that I don’t have things I want to work on. I have a lot of things to work on, to finish, to edit, to start.
I force myself to work at my job, why can’t I force myself to work on my passions?
What do you do when your dear friend abandons you? When your brain is half asleep and no amount of coffee will wake it up?
When the door to that beautiful, magical place is shut?