At the risk of jinxing myself, it’s not often I find myself with nothing, or very little to say. But here I am. No words. It’s not writer’s block. Thank God, I’m not having any trouble with client work. Those words and ideas are flowing. Thank you, thank you, thank you.
Same with my book. As I told you last week, it is going really well. If anything, I’m having trouble typing fast enough to keep up with the thoughts and memories and sentences and words screaming at me, inside my head, desperate and impatient to come out. Thank you, thank you, thank you.
But it feels like there’s nothing left for my blog. Anything that’s personal, the kind of stories I often share here, is going into the book. I love observing people and usually that inspires blog posts, but I’m finding it impossible to tear myself away from my writing, so I’m not doing any people watching. If I do go out, which is infrequent these days, I do what I have to do, rush right back home and plunk myself down in front of my computer.
I am loving every second of it, so please don’t get the impression I’m complaining, because I am not. Absolutely not.
This has never happened to me before, not even when I first started writing the book nine years ago. I wrote seven chapters in three months so it certainly was consuming me. But what’s happening now is different. Regardless of what else I’m doing, the book keeps interrupting my thoughts, pushing everything else out of the way.
So if you show up here some Tuesday morning and I’m nowhere to be seen, you’ll know where I am.