Creative Block

Last week I had a rush of creativity.  For four days, I wrote and wrote — pages! And I planned to write anymore.  I spent several evenings angry that I couldn’t type faster.

Then it vanished.  I’ve become familiar with this cycle.  I go through it several times a year.  I usually don’t know what ends one.  This time I do.  Life ended it.

One second I’m thinking about some world where an old man is teaching his great x 4 grand niece magic; the next I’m thinking about money.  It’s always money.  How will I ever afford this or that? How can I dig out of debt? Is it better this way or that way?  Then it’s work and it’s stress.  How will I complete this or that or the other thing that recently came onto my plate to do. 

Couches.  Lately, I’ve been trying to apply money to the problem of not having a couch and for whatever reason that is enough to lock up my imagination.

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