a tilting of air

I have been thinking about the novel for a week.

Thinking. That’s it.

I’ve sat down three times to see if I can get words on paper.

Nothing.

Creativity feels like a fair-weather friend these days. I’m mainly focusing on presentations, spreadsheets, meetings, spousing (I’m calling it a word today), parenting, childing (also calling it a word today). I’ve tackled many things in the last week and have found great joy in watching the birds at our feeders, celebrating St. Patrick’s Day with my wife and youngest son, and have made progress with some big things at work.

But my brain refuses to connect with the novel this week. It’s my brain. Resistance should be futile! Right? I’m forcing myself to write this blog post so that I actually write something kind of creative. You’re welcome.

It’s not a complaint. It’s an observation…maybe a slight frustration…but, really, an observation…a curiosity.

I have characters that need developing and a story arc with holes the size of Texas.

I suppose they are in isolation…a quarantine. Distance will make the heart grow fonder, yes?

Onward and upward.