There are times in life when you find it necessary to eat your words. Contrary to what anyone tells you, humble pie, though not the best flavor, is often good medicine. While I was indeed able to write for a time during my move from Georgia to Louisiana, the period after the fact proved to be far more of a challenge than expected. Adjusting to living close to ailing parents, transferring so much information online regarding the change of address, fighting a battle to get reliable internet in a rural area and many other considerations not often obvious with major moves piled with a weight that completely killed my writing drive. So much for my belief that I could soldier through it as I had during a difficult NaNoWriMo.
Last year’s move showed me where my breaking point lay, at least when not operating under the necessity of a deadline. I have spent many hours staring at the horror of a blank page and needing no clock ticking to tell me what a waste it was. Where did my drive go? Would it ever come back?
I still don’t have a precise answer to the first question. Perhaps it hid under a heavy, dark rock where it would be safe from my increasingly frustrated recrimination. Thankfully, the answer to the second question is more satisfying. Yes, it came back, in part because I had the incentive of a deadline with a paid project, and more importantly because I love to write. My uncle used to have a saying, “You’ll always get where you’re going if you just get out of your own way.”
Although that has taken longer than I anticipated and proven harder than it sounds on the surface, I have finally managed to get out of my own way. One other thing. I’ll never get preachy about writer’s block again. If I do, feel free to redirect me to this post for a second helping of pie.