I'm a little worried.
Last February, and the February before, I found myself in the midst of a tornado of sorts: a story showed up in my head, and made it to the paper in short amount of time. I worked in a frenzy--a good one--and my efforts paid off in the form of two novels. This February, the well is dry, and I wonder if my creativity has come to an end.
If I really think about the circumstances surrounding my creative bursts, I know that I had fewer obligations: I wasn't teaching as much and the kids didn't go as many places. In short, I simply had more time to write than I have these days.
I'm not complaining about the lack of writing time. I'm making an observation. And, I wonder if my circumstances change, if I find more writing time, will the words flow? Or is this it?
Last February, and the February before, I found myself in the midst of a tornado of sorts: a story showed up in my head, and made it to the paper in short amount of time. I worked in a frenzy--a good one--and my efforts paid off in the form of two novels. This February, the well is dry, and I wonder if my creativity has come to an end.
If I really think about the circumstances surrounding my creative bursts, I know that I had fewer obligations: I wasn't teaching as much and the kids didn't go as many places. In short, I simply had more time to write than I have these days.
I'm not complaining about the lack of writing time. I'm making an observation. And, I wonder if my circumstances change, if I find more writing time, will the words flow? Or is this it?
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