I wrote this on Friday afternoon, and having sat on it for a weekend, figure it's still worth posting. I don't like feeling like I'm angsting publicly but this journal is supposed to be my outlet for creativity, and creativity has been sorely lacking.
deliasherman once told me that you can't write while things are going wrong. She's right, of course. (I'll
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And think about the story. From what I can see, I don't think you're bored with it, but you're the only person who can say for certain.
And then what? Will my interest magically reappear? Do I just wait by the window for my muse to drop by? Until it condescends to see me?
Sadly, that's usually the way of it. Muses are pesky and arbitrary creatures.
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Take care o' yourself, and this is the sort of thing that tends to sort itself out.
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