I never used to believe in “writer’s block.” Part of me still doesn’t want to think it exists, that its something we writers have to power through. There have been times in the past where a story has been difficult for me, where I didn’t know what happened next. I rarely had a deadline or readers waiting, it was just me and the characters trying to figure out what adventure they’d find next. I could take as much time as I wanted to figure it out, and invariably I did.
I’ve always written. My mother still has “books” I made from preschool about dinosaurs and horses and other fun stuff. Being able to make up stories, bring to life interesting characters and situations, was something I loved, something I wanted to do for a living. Several months ago, I was finally able to get that dream, quitting my day job to focus solely on my craft. I thought it would be smooth sailing from here on out, doing something I loved so much.
The last month has shown me otherwise.