Originally, I was going to write about this somewhere private where I know I could talk it over with a few people I’ve known a while… sort of run through the issues here, but to hell with that. I’m just going to put this out as part of my public face.

Right now, a lot of rotten crap has been going on. What’s the number one thing that sucks? Me.

My wife and son are still out of town dealing with the death of my mother-in-law. I’m here alone, feeling adrift without my family. I’m also stymied by some other problems that I can’t talk about because they aren’t mine. Add the petty time-wasting of my recent Qwest situation, the uncertainty of my day job, personal crap I don’t need to see on the internet and so on, and you have one writer who hasn’t been able to write.

Writers write, yeah? That’s what everyone says. I’ve been writing, too, but I end up cutting or deleting it by the end of the week. Then there are also days when I don’t write anything.

I know I have plot problems to solve, but my head is crowded with stress, worry, and petty resentments. Somehow I need to clear some space, but all of my usual recharging activities–reading, movies, games–are wildly time-consuming. When to I get the writing done? When do I solve the plot problem that’s staring me in the face?

Those look amazingly like questions, don’t they? They’re not. Not really. They’re just expressions of my personal dismay and confusion. I really do want to be a professional writer. I really do want to write. I really love the book I’m working on; I swear to Pikachu it could be awesome. What I don’t have but really, really need, is the mental toughness to fall into story space even when I’m depressed, distracted or upset.

In a bit, I’m going to close my internet for a few hours, and I’m going to be less active online for a while. I need to find that hook inside my mind where I can hang a story.