write interupted

I've been blogging for two months now and it's time to 'fess up about my real motive: I want to write again. Not so long ago (although sometimes it feels like a lifetime), writing was my passion, my comfort, my pleasure. I wasn't prolific on a Nora Roberts scale, but I did complete five novels over the course of five years and, joy of joys, saw four of them published. And then...life interrupted. On a somewhat cataclysmic scale. In the aftermath, imagination fled. Inspiration went into hiding. Motivation moved out and left no forwarding address.

But that was then. Life is different now, and I'm content. I've tried, several times, to pick up the threads of the story I was working on before Stuff Happened, but my characters seem wary and standoffish. Can't really blame them, I guess. I mean, I did  leave them alone on a rock in the fog for three years with nothing but two mugs of tea, some cookie crumbs, a deaf orange cat, and their looming Conflict.

Enter stillpoint: The Blog. It's been both apology and promise to my fog-bound characters. I figured if I could write something on a regular basis, it would prove to them and to myself that I've still got what it takes to finish the book. Lately, I've been pretty sure I've heard my muse a-knocking. Imagination and inspiration are definitely back, and I've put motivation on notice: there will be time to write every day.

Now to get those two off that rock . . .





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