It’s a process, you know?
The pen scratches against the beloved yellow legal pad; two
sentences in, hastily ripping the marred sheet away to reveal the next. Then,
crumpling aforementioned sheet into non-aerodynamic ball to be sent flying
across the room towards trash bin half-full of identical counterparts.
Start over with brilliant first line inspired by real
emotion and promptly get lost in said emotion for so long that words no longer
come and the thought of attempting to articulate is mildly overwhelming.
Repeat process. New topic, and here is where I’m found.
Writer’s block, an explanation for the hiatus.
