25 February 2020
by Barb Goffman
That means I only write a few weeks a year. I sometimes have a week here, two weeks there between projects to devote to writing. That's it. Sometimes I go for months without typing a word. And that's why I usually rev up when I have writing time coming, excited for the story or stories I'll create. But not now.
I finished my last editing project a few days ago, with the next one still a few days off, and ... nothing. I thought I had an idea, finally, for a story for the Bouchercon anthology, but the plot doesn't work. I combed through my files of story ideas I email myself year round so I could run with them when the opportunity presents itself. But none of them sparked joy.
I think sometimes you just have to admit that you're burned out and you're not going to get any writing done this week, even though it's your first writing week in ages. And it's okay.
At least that's what I keep telling myself.
The muse will reappear eventually. It always does. But until then, I'm going to go watch a movie with my dog. Happy Tuesday!