I had high expectations for 2020. When you make plans, you expect deviations from the path, setbacks, and unexpected obstacles. But I never dreamed we would encounter the end of the world we once knew. Everything is reminiscent of the Gravitron. You remember the centrifuge style carnival ride that spins, pinning your body against the wall before the floor drops?
With no firm footing, my writing drive evaporated. Winter descended. You know what the professionals suggest when you feel blocked and can’t write? They say you should write anyway. Gee, thanks. I hate this advice. Opening my laptop was the last thing I wanted to do. Another set of experts counsel you to exercise self-care, don’t require too much, rest, and give yourself permission to not write. Facing conflicting schools of thought, what was a writer to do?
Me, myself, and I had a long conversation. We decided to adopt…
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