Sometimes it stinks being a writer. You can’t take a day off (well, of course, in reality you can, but you won’t get paid) and you have to write your articles even if you don’t feel like writing.
I recently felt that way. I didn’t feel like writing – so I relied on my favorite form of personal therapy when things are not going the way I had hoped.
I wrote. But I wrote the stuff I wanted to write.
It sounds odd but writing to me is like a form of therapy to another. I’ll be the first to admit that I don’t “see” things. When a friend of mine feels down and goes to a fabric store, she talks about how a bolt of fabric would look great as a vintage A-line dress, I just don’t see it.
What I see is a bolt of cloth.
View original post 362 more words