And, as time goes by...

Well it’s been a few days and still my fiction remains locked hard inside my head, despite kind words of advice and some non-fiction work including these, I’ve done absolutely nothing.

At this point I’m open to more suggestions, ideas...electro shock therapy!

OK, maybe not quite there yet, quite.

I really miss my stories, really, really, miss them.

Weird thing, I swear my library is getting smaller?

I was laying in the dark last night, not sleeping because that would never happen, just laying with my eyes closed, wandering the shelves trying to inspire myself and I actually found myself wondering if there were shelves missing?

Plus, as I look over the shelves contents, which appear hazy until I decide to actually look at one, coinciding with my memory thinking of an old film or book, then it appears.

Maybe I’m getting old?  I’ll wander to the back tonight and check for a “Space shrinking, due to premature senility” sign painted on the wall, maybe that’s why I can’t write anymore?

No, no, no, no, no, I will not except that, I’m finishing Absolution even if I never get to do the trilogy, although there will be some amazingly annoyed people out there.

The more I dwell on the block, the more I notice something else, the glow from ‘My Books’ shelf dulls, like my imagination is presenting the block in a physical form, so to speak, a way for me to actually visualise it, doesn’t help a hell of a lot, but when was an over active imagination ever helpful?

Really not right now it’s not there truly is nothing worse for a writer than a head full of ideas and no way to voice them, and that damn itch is really driving me round the twist now, what is it with that, I mean itching, that’s not normal, maybe I’m allergic to not writing, no that can’t be it, maybe a side effect of having a head full of crap, possibly?

These and many more questions will not be answered in a space like this soon, I mean what are you meant to do? What use is a writer who can’t write?  I’m tempted to try ‘speak and write’ but somehow I don’t think it’s going to look any better spoken than typed.

So what is it that happens to a writer that makes them look at work they have spent hours thinking about doing, and almost as long actually writing, and say “this is utter tripe”.

I don’t know, don’t pretend too maybe if enough people join in and discuss their block, we might find a solution together, seriously, what the hell did I do for all these hours of none sleep before I wrote? 

Well I’ve covered the favourite show trick, fave film, nothing on at all, chatting and writing and you know what, just another night of block, still, least I got this done, now inspire me dammit!!

Give me some magic back, before the light from the ‘My Books’ shelf goes out completely, before the library shrinks to nothing and I’m just another old man who had a mundane life, meaningless job and nothing more to show for it.

The End?

The End

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