In an attempt to jumpstart my writing mood –which has stalled at the
edge of frowny and fatalistic- I am shoving out another travel blog post today.
As I’ve belabored the point before, my travel blog is my blankie. Warm,
soft and easy to write, I tuck my face into its familiar fluff and just breathe
for an hour or two.
I have two issues with this: 1.) Who the crap has a writing blankie? Seriously.
And 2.) Why am I constantly shying away from the final edits of The Hushing
Days?
Unfortunately, I know the two answers: 1.) Stupid, little me has a writing blankie,
that’s who. And 2.) Fear, mixed with a genetic helping of procrastination.
Of course, this little exercise in self-examination means nothing,
helps no one and is generally a waste of literary space…
*pauses, runs that last sentence
through brain a couple hundred times and winces*
Well, crap. I hate when self-portraiture sneaks up and bites you on the
ass.
Until tomorrow…
Chloe
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