I can write. I have notes upon notes and word prompts and blog topics that the truth is, I don’t have any blockage. I have stress pressure to do it all. I freeze because the mountain of ideas is too high. The volume I’ve set for myself is overwhelming and to tell me to break away; don’t be so hard on myself; put it aside and only ______. Only what? Give attention to one area of myself. Would you tell a mother to just pay attention to one child?
Oh. Now, I’m being silly.
Sorry, you’re wrong.
Each and every part that is writing, is creating, is very much a blood cell running through me. Each has its needs and there’s only one of me to meet them. I don’t have a back-up or an assistant. I have me and every so often “me” goes on strike.
Me refuses to buckle in and work on a single piece of the writing puzzle. Me refuses to look at anything other than the big picture. Then Me gets scared and freaks out.
Where to start?
How to start?
When?
Why?
What to start – oh wait, that’s same as where. Okay, change where to start to, where to start what to start. Yeah, that makes sense.
See, I’m not blocked. I’m just losing my mind.