God, I hate when I can’t write. I propose the Writers Guild begin a new subgroup:

Writer’s Block Anonymous.

“My name is Shari Lopatin, and I’m a blocked writer.” I think every professional writer needs this, including myself. After more than five years as a professional writer, I’ll sit down at my computer to write a short narrative, or short story, or work on my novel, and nothing flows anymore. Why the hell is that?

I know I haven’t written in this blog for months, and I attribute much of that to the endless hell that Phoenix bestows upon its inhabitants during the summer (in other words, I haven’t done a darn thing on my currently non-existent organic garden because nothing can grow in this desolate oven).  So instead today, I’m sitting here, staring at my computer screen, blindly rummaging through the endless dribble that is Facebook, and wondering where my mind went?

I remember during high school, I had an English teacher named Mrs. Kroeppler (she now has a different last name, I believe). During my senior year, I took an elective from her: creative writing. The things my mind developed during that class–well, I’ll leave it there. But now, I wonder what happened to my innate ability to foreshadow, create mysterious symbolism, develop characters with such depth that they’d automatically be struggling internally in a man vs. man conflict?

Oy.

I’m already giving myself a headache. But I refuse, REFUSE to be one of those writers who begins something, then never finishes. OK, so maybe I’ve done that–several times, actually–but I refuse to continue! I now understand why some of our history’s greatest authors have spiraled into madness while suffering from their own genius.

The frustrations of being a writer. If only we had that Writer’s Block Anonymous. I’d be the first to stand and droop my head in shame.