The most difficult part in this writer’s life is the space in between stories. From the moment I end one narrative until I put word to paper for the next there exists this dead space in which all of that hope and potential swells, pops, and lurks in the emptiness of my mind. I am not good at starting and even worse and handling being finished. These things, critical to being a successful author, stand out among my glaring weaknesses. Presently I am efforting to deal with this issue. I’m working through the dead space in order to reach my next tale before that space stretches out into a vast void and I am lost until the lure of a paycheck drags me back towards writing.
I have stories in mind and I wanted today to be the day I sat down and wrote them out. Unfortunately, life and work and lazy mornings all conspired against me. So, here I am blogging about my maladies as a form of admission and hoping that the act of admission will morph into the act of correction, because there are stories that need to be told.