Lately, at home in the evenings, usually. I think about my writing and where am I going.
Fog clouds my next couple-three steps.
In the story of me writing a book, I am just a little stuck. I can’t decide. Do I not understand what next I need to do? Or am I having some trouble with the idea I am striving to communicate?
This is how it feels right now. It’s not a loss of confidence at all. It’s just a feeling of befuddlement.
Recently I wrote an absurd thought in my journal.
Just write. Just get ideas down.
And yet, right now, it is so hard to do.