The Bug in my Brain

I'm telling you - there's one in there.

Or maybe Sommer's zombie exterminators missed one of their targets, and it's eaten it - I can't really be sure.But something is definitely missing up there.

See, I LOVE to write. For years, it was how I escaped, what I did when I was bored, and something I took immense amounts of pride in.

Lately, well, I seem to have a problem dedicating myself to my writing time. Things at work are SLOW to be nice about it. And in the past, I would have welcomed the slow time to write. After all, I have about ten serious WIP's, and a few dozen ideas kicking around in my skull.

Yet, lately, when I sit to put my fingers to the keyboard - Bejeweled Blitz winds up on my screen somehow.

*hanging head in shame*

I know - it's a disgrace. And then, if I'm home, I can find a dozen or more things on the television to sit through, rather than bring to life the wonderful characters that are just waiting for me to spring them from their prison.

I don't know where my brain has gone lately. I really don't. And to be quite honest, it's pissing me off.

After work, once in a while, when I have the house to myself, it's quiet, and peaceful, and the perfect time for writing. All day, I'll sit wherever I happen to be, and I'll have scenarios, characters and plot lines springing around my head like Tigger on meth.

But when it comes time to set it all down, and create, I stall. Hell, even while writing this blog I've taken three Blitz breaks. Maybe one reason is that things I write, some get taken the wrong way. People sometimes read into it a little too much. They think that I'm always the main character in everything I write - and some important people feel that it's not complete fiction. I mean, I've never made it a big secret, I do tend to take a few things from real life. Mostly settings, personality traits from others, even secondary situations now and again. But in no way is any complete piece reality.

Maybe that stalls my hand. Even though, I can't control how people will read into things, just as I can't control if they'll enjoy it or not.

But whatever the reason, I've stopped writing lately. And it just makes me feel, I don't know how to describe it.

Empty maybe - and a little bit like a fraud.

Because maybe I'm not a writer, like I always thought I was. Maybe I'm just playing at this, playing at getting my publishing certificate. I don't think I am, but who knows what the sub-conscious is up to.

I'm kind of feeling lost.

So I'm hoping the bug (or zombie) really did eat my brain - because I don't want to think that after almost thirty years of writing, I've lost my passion.