This is what I have and I have it big time. My writing drought has been long and prolonged and strangely, or perhaps not so strangely, started after my gargantuan writing effort at Nanowrimo. It is tempting to think I wrote out everything I had and there is no more.
I have been thinking about our writing group challenge (for Friday) which is to write something inspired by a piece of art, perhaps particularly Christina's world. I have been trying to get enthused enough to cobble something together. This should be easy. Two years ago I would have found the idea interesting and been keen on the challenge. Now I just can't seem to get motivated. I think I just don't want to write small pieces any more, and my inner self has just shut down, refused. A little voice keeps saying "Why are you just fooling around. Buckle down and finish your book."
The same thing happened with my painting. I got tired of going to classes and thinking about painting. I wanted to just PAINT. Not just little excercises but a canvas. Since then I have finished two and I am working on a third. My friend helped keeep me on track by providing goals and a deadline to meet. (Thanks Mamie!)
I know I have some good writing in me, I am not tapped out. It is all there just waiting to bubble out when the time is right. But that time is not now it seems.