Update 4/28/2019: I came across a tweet that linked to a blog post about “writer’s-block shaming.” I read far enough to answer the question it asks at the end about if the post made me think. Yes, it did. The following still works for me.
This is like asking me how I deal with the Great Pumpkin, the imaginary character that Charles M. Schulz created. I don’t accept it as a real thing.
That doesn’t mean there aren’t times when it is difficult to sit down and write. Sometimes doing something else is just a choice, a matter of procrastination or distraction.
An absence of discipline.
If I somehow found myself going weeks or months or longer without writing anything, I wouldn’t consider myself a victim of some imaginary blockage. I would quit calling myself a writer.
Excerpted from North of Grand: Detective Red Shaw Novel #2 Read the book on Kindle or Nook
Shaw tried to remember the last time he’d been on a date. Way back, right after he met Sally. He hoped this one wouldn’t be as awkward. They’d arranged to meet at the west end of a pedestrian bridge over the river, just a short walk from the police station. He could see her approach from a distance, sporting a close-fitting white top and shorts. She was dressed for the heat and hard to miss. Her light brown curls were tied back and topped with a Cubs visor. A Cubs-blue bag hung from her shoulder.
“Hi, Red,” she said as she gave his hand a
little squeeze. “Are you ready for some baseball?”
“You bet” was the best he could do. If her
V-neck were any deeper, he wouldn’t have been able to speak at all. He took in
her smile, her green eyes, and tried to relax. He tried to ignore the sweat
trickling down his back and wished he hadn’t worn blue jeans. They followed the
walkway south along the river.
“I played here once,” Shaw said as they
approached the stadium.
“Well, not here, exactly, but in the old
stadium. Same spot. This is nicer.”
They stopped to buy tickets. Not many
seats were left for a hot summer night and they small-talked as the line crept