I’m working on this new short story. Things were going well until I hit a road block. Then I began to look over the fence and notice other writer’s word counts.
Um, why can’t I do that? I can write can’t I? I mean I’m a writer, afterall. Aren’t I?
Nagging little doubts started to naw at my brain.
The words won’t come — they were never there. This story you’re writing. You’ll never finish…finish <evil laugh>
I can be so cruel sometimes.
Yesterday I was out enjoying myself. I wasn’t thinking about the story at all. Then I was. Then the words started to flow, just like that — like someone had turned on a faucet. More than that, however, a dilemma surfaced.
Remember this back here — why did that happen? Why did she act like that? How are you going to tie these two things together?
Thought: When the words don’t flow…maybe…just maybe…there’s a good reason. Further, if I stop to consider why maybe I’ll build a stronger story.