It’s been a while. I have been muddled, unable to find words to articulate my thoughts in a way that serves me well. Say too much and it could cause problems. Say too little and it is annoyingly (and needlessly concerningly) cryptic. So I don’t write.
This weekend, though, Rich and I have enjoyed a minibreak away as we celebrate our upcoming twentieth wedding anniversary. A peaceful lodge in a forest is exactly what we both needed in our harried lives. Long, uninterrupted conversations, a hot tub, and plenty of food and wine have all helped to recharge our batteries. Enough for me to write this post, at least.
My novel, too, has stalled again; writing creatively requires me to have a clear head. I will never be one of those people who can write every day regardless of what is happening in their world. And despite the therapeutic weekend away, my head is far from clear. It is foggy from perimenopause and clouded with professional doubts. Hopefully, now my battery has been recharged, I can restart the writing engine, so to speak. I don’t know why I am using this metaphor. I really don’t know how engines work. Does anyone have any jump leads?