It’s been a while, hasn’t it?

The world spun out of control during the pandemic, and I’ve been struggling to find my creative footing since. I’ve missed having the time and ingenuity to sit down and blog. And honestly, I started to believe that I’d lost my one spark of madness.

Talk about devastating.

Writing has been my outlet for well over a decade. It’s been the one thing I relied on … the one thing I did just for me.

I loved getting up at 4 a.m. and heading to the writing room. The smell of coffee brewing while the pups lay at my feet. I loved the challenge of creating a storyline that melds our harsh reality into the world I’d rather see.

But life has a way of kicking us in the shins, and tragedy piled on the shitstorm left by the pandemic. It was like being hit with a tsunami and then being left in the rubble after the water receded. Writing time became scarce, but when I found time, I’d do nothing but stare at a blank screen.

One month turned to six, and then a year, and I thought about giving it up altogether. Creativity hides in the deep waters of our brain, and it was like I no longer could swim in those proverbial waters.

Liana Gardner and I talk every week, and she reminded me that writing isn’t an all-or-nothing venture. No one’s getting shot at dawn if I don’t crank out 100 blog posts and three books a year.

For a writer, the joy is in the process. For the reader, it’s the product.

I needed to give myself grace. And understanding. Just sit down and put some words on the page. Any words. The creative pump hadn’t been primed in a while. The first water that flowed might be rusty and brown, but if I kept pumping, eventually, fresh water would appear.

And she was right.

I’ve started freewriting again, and I’m working on edits and the new manuscript every day. Even if only for an hour or so.

The imaginative waters are back. I’m happier and much less stressed.

It feels great to be back in the saddle again.