For the better part of the past two weeks, I needed a good slapping.
I don’t mean that literally, though some of the people in my life might wish I did. What I needed was someone to snap me out of the insecure funk I get in from time to time.
I had writer’s block.
Do you ever get it? Ideas that seem so clear in my brain get hijacked and disappear somewhere en route to the keyboard. I start a sentence, delete it, start another and delete that, too. I get up and walk the dog, stare some more at the laptop, send out Facebook birthday wishes, stare at the laptop, get a cup of coffee…
Before long, my insecurities win. I am convinced I will never write again. How tragic. It happened so quickly; I never saw it coming.
Am I overreacting? Of course I am. That’s what insecure journalists do. Read more