So there I was, just getting myself all settled in and cozy at my desk. You know the drill: children off to school, cup of coffee, pen, notebook and open word document. With a smile on my face, I stretch my arms, and crank my neck from side-to-side and low and behold, my brain goes blank.

“What is this new thing?” I ask myself.

My brain remains mute as I search for the words. And not a thing comes to mind. I look at the last line that I had written the previous work day and I haven’t the foggiest of where I’m going next. And do you know what the most frustrating thing about this is? I have a HUGE detailed outline, that is basically the book, without all the little links and prose that makes it complete.

Up until now, I’d often heard people talk about “writer’s block”, though, there are some disputes as to if it actually exists, or there is thewriters possibility that people try to amalgamate a whole host of writerly problems into one category. Regardless of what everyone might say, I can confirm (to my stubborn self) that the block really does exist. For me, it’s not a normal thing. I tend to be quite focused. Yes, there have been times when maybe my muse has gone for a long walk, you know the type, they stop off for a few pints at the local pub and forget to check in when they come home, but mostly, I’ve always been able to work through anything that comes in my way.

But this new thing. It’s horrendous. I know where I am going with my book. I am excited by my plot, the storyline, the amazing characters that seem to have taken over my life. Yet, the words just do not present themselves and it is quite startling.

I did a post on Facebook, because, you know, that’s the social etiquette these days! And everyone has been so graceful with their responses and I appreciate the time and effort. But the horrid frustration remains. Hours of work that means nothing. Hours of time spent thinking. Hours of my day spent chastising myself.  However, here I am, still unable to complete a proper sentence that has some kind of meaning in my novel.

I sit and stare at my research and my rather well-informed outline, and I can see the entire novel play out like a movie in my head. And that’s what infuriates me the most. That my own mind has let me down.

Is this a thing new thing that will stay around? How long will this last?  Am I a failure?

So many questions and not a single answer do I have. Call me a bit pedantic, but I love structure. I live by schedules. By rules. And I write the same way (with five children, you need to have a little regimental routine) and this “block” just doesn’t fit in with my life.

I had discussed my “problem” with a fellow author, who told me to maybe consider the fact that there have been some huge changes in my life in the past eight weeks (my man-child moved to the UK and began University), and while I agree, I just cannot allow these changes to have that much control over my creativity. But alas, the mind does what it wants to do.

So, I blogged. Me and blogging, pffft, that does not happen. But, I did it. I also spent a small fortune on new reading material, because my love of books is why I dreamed of writing as a child.

What now?

I guess to take this crippling struggle, and try and salvage my sanity… and if all else fails… there’s wine and chocolate.