In the beginning of August I went through a rather difficult, upsetting period.
No worries, gentle reader, I am not going to bare my soul here on that subject. Enough soul-baring is happening in my writing, I dare say.
What struck me very clearly though, in that period, was that I could not write. Not even the first days after the situation had been dealt with. Oh, I could sit down, start up my trusty copy of Writer’s Café and type words, but that was not writing. I tried it more than once, and I threw away more words in those days than I care to think of.
I was not lacking things to write, I usually have two or three stories underway and also some never-ending editing, but it did not work. Whatever I wrote, it fell in the category of blurb, mess, junk, no-goodness. Have you been there? Do you know the mountain of detritus that remain when you finally manage to escape from the mood?
This, gentle reader, has never happened to me before. Usually when I do not feel good, I tend to write my misery away. It may end up as dark fantasy, stuff that is so grim I don’t even want to put it out for others to read, but this time it was… nothing. Just words.
I once read somewhere that “a professional can deliver his best even when he is not feeling well”. I am sure that applies to another kind of professional. In my daytime job I can do that. In my writing, I discovered, it just does not work. There is obviously too much emotion involved in writing. When emotion is blocked, or takes too much energy to be dealt with, it is hard or even impossible to focus that on creativity.