Writer's Block

The dreaded phrase: writer's block. I did a book talk at a women's club last week and the inevitable question arose.
"Do you ever have writer's block," the little old lady in a red suit asked.
"No, I don't," came my cocky reply.
And I usually don't until this week. Now I find myself finding every little thing else to do besides sitting down and writing an article.
Perhaps there is a reason I cannot write this piece on a young man from my area in Fallujah with the Marines. My deadline is two weeks away and while I have written perhaps the first 300 words, the rest does not come. And that first 300? Forget it — it does not do what I envision.
So I dusted my sewing box today with three years accumulation of dust. I do not sew anymore.
I fight the little voice inside today that suggests perhaps my computer will accumulate dust just like that if I do not break out of this block.
My solution? I am blogging and I do not have writer's block here.
Next I will eat leftover pizza and who knows what inspiration that might bring.
Luckily as a freelancer that Iraqi piece is not the only one sitting on my desk waiting for my inspiration.
Perhaps I will write about the garden club unearthing a sign from an old truck stop or maybe I'll turn to Wal-Mart and turn my frustration on the supercenter that threatens to impinge on our community here in north Florida.
Or then again perhaps I'll go to my novel on big box developers — much more satisfaction there because in fiction, the little guy can actually win.

The Grind

My writing life is a love/hate relationship. There are days when I have so much to do I do not know where to start. I find clearing my desk must occur first, but then I get caught up in so much of the clutter, that I do not get to the real work at hand.

My novel calls to me but since it will bring in no money in the near future, it often gets the shaft. Yesterday I managed to get back to it. I am planning a retreat away from here in early December. I am going to go on a retreat to the keys and hole up in an apartment for seven days until I've got this novel nearly finished. It is possible to do because I'm approximately 15,000 words away from completion, but it is the completion that will take the most concentration. All the threads are there, I've just got to sew them all together.

Today I must put on my make up and heels and go to the Gainesville Woman's Club for a talk on A Lethal Legacy, my second novel. I am grateful for this opportunity to hone my public speaking skills and to sell my books, but it does require putting on some armor to put myself out there in such a public way. Later I am meeting with our newly formed Gainesville writer's group where I will share information from the writer's conference I just attended. I'm going to take my lap top and in between the two events in Gainesville, I'm going to go to a dark coffee shop downtown and write a chapter on Sweet Lady. I think I love today.

Life in Bush Country

I'm working on an article on a family with a son in Iraq. They are putting together 45 goody bags for their son's unit and the community has donated money and items to help with the project.

I sat with the grandmother, sister, and mother yesterday afternoon as they made chocolate chip cookies. I wondered how they voted in Tuesday's election, but did not want to ask. The mother said without my asking that she had voted for Bush because she thought he would provide the strongest war leadership and with a son in the middle of the fighting she had to go with him.

The grandmother said those people who did not want Bush or protested our presence in Iraq just did not know the good things we had brought to that country. She intimated that not supporting the war meant folks did not support her grandson. I pointed out to her that those I spoke to who did not approve of our presence in Iraq still had the utmost respect for our troops.

I could not say anything more since I was in their home doing an unbiased article on their efforts. But for the first time since Tuesday I felt extremely isolated and alone with my views. After I finished the interview I went to the cocktail party addressed in the previous blog.

Today I feel let down by humanity and my writing has taken a back seat to my depression.

It Ain't All Grand

I wrote an editorial in my newspaper, The Observer, this month on accepting others political opinions without fear of retribution. Last night I attended a cocktail party where a woman I did not know said she had a real problem with my column in The Observer supporting John Kerry for president. I said it did not really matter since her man had won. She still continued.

"You do one thing really well in The Observer," she said. "You know how to spell."

Such is the glamorous life of a writer.

Patricia