A day and time when there seems like a plethora of things to write about and as I sit down at the computer nothing captures my attention.

I worry that this is the first time I am writing in the new apartment and for all my wants and needs the magic won’t be here.  I’ve tried to set up the entire environment to support my writing but what if I’ve been wrong.  What if I could only write at the old place, or Long Beach or any place but here?

Is this what being a writer is? Constant fear about the next word, let along the next sentence or paragraph.  The writing group will be here in an hour and nothing has sparked my interest.

Worst still, it’s the day to post a new blog.  I promised people I would write something happy this week.  Maybe that is the pressure I am succumbing to?  I don’t think I write happy.  Maybe ironic, maybe humorous, but happy?  I don’t think so. This might be the point holding me back.

I transformed a new place for me to continue my writing life but there is no way I ever thought this place would change the writer or person I am.

I also know this place will not make me happy.  I’ve shown people the pictures… there have been lots of oohs and aahs.  I keep my mouth shut and don’t comment back.  Well of course I’ve made a nice looking home…. You know me, did you expect less?  But a pleasant looking place will not be the medicine or life-saving surgery to fix what is broken in me.

You are fools to think it.

No, right now, at this point in time, I am left with an inability to write a story for my book.  I hope and pray it’s only because I’m too exhausted from the move and the massive list of issues still to be dealt with.  Taking time to go to the Buddhist welcoming ceremony for our returning teacher didn’t help the matter. I sat in the monastery listening to the prayers and probed my mind for something to write about.  As I bowed in front of Thrangu Rinpoche, waiting for him to touch my head and bless me, I was actually thinking if I could write about that. But no, there was no new angle to talk about… who needs another story about my Buddhist life?

Part of me is saying don’t panic.  I will be able to write here.  If I was able to write at Long Beach I will write here.  It’s not the place, it is my mind.

But here I sit without a story idea and the minutes are ticking away.  There won’t be any magic this afternoon.  This is one of those days when writing is just another task on my to do list.


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