So here I am at the end of October and I haven't written anything for a month or so. I've started a few posts and then deleted them, unable to see them as having any worth. Writer's block is a pernicious condition, and today I'm writing my way through/past/around it. I'm determined to get to the end of this post and publish it. I've switched off (well, turned down a bit) my internal perfectionist editor and I'm writing. Why do I let it worry me so much? As I look now at the screen and see the words accumulating, the sentences unfolding, the piece taking shape, I begin to realise that I've been punishing and depriving myself. Writing is a way of reflecting on life, of celebrating and making sense of achievement and loss. In the last couple of months so much has happened and I'm going to post about it all in the next couple of days.
The blank page is here to be filled, not feared. Tally Ho!!
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