Translating those concepts to that blinking cursor — that writer’s nemesis — on the screen, not so much. Maybe it’s the icy landscape, snow falling in the frigid air, that has frozen the well.
Probably not. But when in doubt, blame the weather. Here in Chicago, there’s nearly always weather to blame.
It makes me wish Aunty Ida could intervene, and take the ideas, wholesale and complete, from my head to the page. Easy peasy.
But we writers know there are no shortcuts. Only fingers moving over a passive keyboard, imperfect word by imperfect word, growing and growing until there’s something we can hack into imperfect shape.
So when the words don’t come, we need to use lesser words. Maybe our future selves can set things straight. That’s why editing exists.
And off I go. I have ideas to sculpt into something else entirely.
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