These last few days, my attempts to put nascent thoughts into writing withered and crept into corners to die. Like the slime trail of a snail, they leave unpleasant evidence. Follow the trail and, at the end, their corpses litter the places my mind went.
An hour and a half ago, at just a minute past four o’clock, I awoke with a sense that the time had come; I would gather my thoughts and coherently relay them to the page. Ninety minutes later, that sense has passed….make that 120 minutes later. Three incoming calls on my fax interrupted me. That interruption led me to other distractions. Another thirty minutes without transferring words from my brain to the page.
I would say I have writer’s block. If I were a writer.