June 8th 2026 – something I wrote trying to finish chapters 1-3 of Elmyra’s story…

Writer’s Block

I have never truly believed in the idea of “writer’s block.” I have experienced it, but since I have been writing more consistently, I can write more or less “at will.” However, I feel the concept in a more abstract sense now. I do not have an inability to write, but I certainly do not want to finish that. A concept where the writer’s block is “avoidance,” if you will. That story is too heavy for me to engage with at the moment. I put myself back there and it is paralyzing. 

I write to you today in that state. Transparently, I sat down here at the keyboard to write about a fantasy story in the Mortal Plane universe. I have written one sentence in two hours. It has taken me 8 minutes to get to this point (more or less) in this. The act of moving my fingers is effortless but the product is aimless. I sit here dancing on a keyboard, writing for fun, but knowing I want to get this out of me. 

Reflecting on this, I could force myself to engage with what I am avoiding. Yet, I fear the actual feeling, or worse, making slop to avoid the real feelings. “To be sad or not to be sad” is the lame paradigm I find myself in. It’s not that I don’t want to be sad today. I mean, I clearly must be depressed today if I feel called to finish a sad story. I want to write it. I do not want to feel it. The actual recognition of sadness and the reflection of why. What is that character going to go through? In the moment of engagement with my own memories, I slip into the feeling. Being there again, and alongside my character, and being present at the keyboard. Forever walking together it can feel all-consuming, so.. why add to it? Why do this story, and why do it now… today. 

I remind myself that I can leave this keyboard. The characters will be where I left them, when I get back. I can pick them up and move them as I need to, when I can. Clearly, I cannot right now. Again, I am writing, and I have been scribbling in journals. I can just keep going here. But I should go to the park. The birds are outside and I could listen to their songs. I heard some really good music yesterday; I can listen to that band in the car. I can feel this sadness and not feel alone. I can see the people I write about around me. I can watch our shared experience in this world. I can feel connected. I can walk in the present, not the past. I can feel some hope to counter the sorrow. I can clear my head and then I will know what to write.