The Space Between
The truth is, between the holidays, traveling to Yosemite for 5 days and Michigan for 10, and getting knocked out for a week and a half by the flu, I haven’t been writing. I don’t mean just not working on the novel, I mean not writing at all. Not even journaling.
I’ve written a ton of thank you notes, sure. This does not count.
For the first week it was nice. A well-deserved, much needed break. By week three I was starting to get the itch. And now I’m on the verge of despair. What’s happened to me? What am I doing? Why am I not doing this?
This morning, at the suggestion of a member of my writers’ group, I wrote a 100-word flash fiction entry for a website that features, you guessed it, 100-word stories. Oh, it felt good. The usual voices were there – This is crap! What are you doing? You call this writing? You call this fiction? You call this a story?? The voices are always loudest when I go back after not writing for a while. They’re loud, too, when I start something brand new.
But the loudest voice of all? That was the one that screamed, One hundred words? Good job, good start, but not enough! KEEP WRITING!