Like Pooh in Piglet's window....

Okay, so I have writer’s block. No big deal...

Except, of course, it is! I am currently working on three separate projects: book five of the Rainie series, Book four of The Red Wolves, and book two of Shadow. For any of you who have read all three, you know that these are three very different series, written from different perspectives, in different voices, in different moods. Surely I should be able to work on at least one of them.

Nope. Not happening.

So I dusted off a really old project, the first fantasy novel I ever attempted, tentatively called “Shattered World.” It is as different from the other three projects as they are different from each other. I was certain it would kick start whatever synapses aren’t firing in my usually prolific brain.

Still not working.

It’s time to pull out the big guns.

I’m going to cook.

Over the weekend I made potato soup and chili. This week I think homemade chicken and noodles, maybe some stir fry... maybe a bit of baking and fudge making is in order, as well.

Yes, we are getting to the crux of the matter. Writer’s block is fattening.

They don’t warn you about that in creative writing class, do they?

And yes, I have tried walking and Pilates, and a long drive, and a hot bath, and reading other people’s books to give my own characters time to rest. I have read the newspaper, texted friends, read a couple of dozen random words and definitions in my favorite dictionary. I took pen in hand and put it to paper, hoping that familiar old connection would help. All that got me was some bad poetry, and that isn’t what I need to be working on.

I’m stuck like a twig in a logjam. Like Pooh in Piglet’s window. Like the little boy in Timmy’s well. Like a standard bolt on a metric screw.

I’m blocked like a car at a police roadblock. Like a drain full of grease and hair. Like grandpa after eating a half pound of cheese.

Okay, you probably get the picture.

So, once again I must apologize to those of you waiting for the next book of... well, anything that I’m writing. I promise it will all be written eventually.

In the meantime, I will cook and cook and cook... and at least my family should be satisfied... if a bit heavier by the time I start to write again...