I watched The Tudors, Planet Earth, The Dog Whisperer.
Pifrog licky bocan.I painted, photographed, listened to Stravinsky and frittered frantically.Ert yaf oi twivvom.I despaired.
Then, last week something clicked.
The fog suddenly cleared and I could focus. Thoughts gelled.When I sat down at the keyboard, writing happened. Words behaved themselves.
What’s distressing is I can't think what opened the gates.
If I knew, I could do it next time life interrupts my writing.
Was a good night’s sleep? No, I haven’t had a good night’s sleep in months.
Was it the insomnia? Perhaps, though I doubt it.
NO, no. Definitely not.
I’m an atheist, I don’t believe in muses.
Muses shmuses.Actually, there isn't a writer's muse per se, only poetry muses, so no wonder we get stuck without even a dedicated muse to inspire us!
As I can't figure it out, I'll just have to go through all the above again next time there's a major disruption. Sigh.