Argh, this is driving me crazy. I can’t write. My brain feels constipated but no amount of squeezing yields … anything. There’s so much happening, trails being blazed every day, and yet. It’s like I’ve forgotten how to write. It feels like everything I could possibly say is trite and worn. And don’t even talk to me about taking pictures. It’s like I’ve never taken a single one in my life and wouldn’t even know how to begin.
Come back to me, muse. Seriously.
Your muse is INSIDE YOU.
/scary movie voice
I’m sending you some writing prompts for middle schoolers. It can’t hurt.
Also, have you ever read Bird by Bird? Love it.
I drank a lot of coffee when I was carrying your cousin (at least when I wasn’t puking my guts up)- and look how she turned out, ELL OH ELL.