An unhealthy dose of writer's block.

What I wore: Top, H&M. Shorts, American Eagle. Sweater, JCPenney. Boots, MakeMeChic.com.

For the longest time, I was completely convinced that there was no such thing as writer's block. How could you suddenly not be able to write? How could the ideas just turn off? Sure, I had days when my writing read like poo, but to be unable to produce words at all? Pshhh, that sounded like a myth to me.

But for months now, I've been stuck. Seriously stuck. And the worst part is that it's not a lack of time or a lack of desire that's keeping me from writing. You know the way it feels when you're anxiously awaiting something you're so excited for or dreading something that's impending? That almost physical pressure in your chest? I wake up in the morning with all of these concepts and ideas and feelings built up - I can feel them and I just have to get them all out, but when I sit down in front of the computer...nada. I just have not been able to translate a single thing into words.

If you read online, there are all of these reasons for writer's block but most of them boil down to fear. Fear of your own judgment, fear of your work being read, fear of not living up to past writing successes (yeeeeah, so that last one's probably not the cause here). I have loads of trouble understanding how it could be fear that's keeping me from writing, but perhaps I'm wrong. Maybe there is something about this new novel idea that makes my fingers lock up and my brain shut down. Maybe I just can't let loose of it enough to see where the narrative needs to go.

I should wrap up this post before I start rambling on with gross metaphors about my story growing wings and sending it off to watch it fly.

Back to Microsoft Word I go. It's just me and you, blank page.

(P.S. I'm still waiting to hear back from the literary agency interested in my first novel. I'm convinced that they're trying to kill me with this excruciating wait.)