Writers Block

I am stuck.  It's a common problem for writers, apparently.  A good friend solved her stuckness of two months by hitting her head against a wall - something I may try.
My first draft came more easily than my third, when words flowed onto the page and I worried less about structure.  The revision is stifling, but I must go on.  I must remember how it feels when the page smiles back at you.
 On a good day, writing reminds me of my solo travels in Italy or Switzerland, when a cobble-stoned path in a village would pull me in at its fork, forcing me to take the path to the right or left; then I would climb its ancient narrow stairways until my thighs burned and I cursed the bowl of pasta I had eaten for lunch, when all I could see was a shard of blue sky in between laundry that was stretched across an alleyway, strung from tiny balconies perched into walls of stone.  It would be about when my knees groaned and begged for a break that the kitchen smells and dampness of the alleyway suddenly ended, giving way to gardens and meadows - a sign that I had left something behind and was headed toward a new discovery.  Soon, or hours later, I would reap my reward; a spectacular overview of a lake or mountain ridge, something much larger than myself that had always been here, that I never would have discovered had I not taken the fork in the road......


  1. Of course eloquently written Karen ... just close your eyes and imagine you are there and the words might start flowing. xx


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