I’ve been so successful in quashing my desire to write for the last six months that I truly feared that it was gone forever.
Sure, I’d written a little here, and a little there. Nothing could make me totally stop writing.
But that oh-so-important drive I’d developed that had helped me write four novels while working full-time, well, it was pushed down deeper than a tick on a vampire.
The coping mechanism I’d used to keep from dying of frustration had worked. I could go days, even weeks, without writing and without my head exploding.
Which really scared me. The time had come for me to rejoin the ranks of the regularly writing. Would the drive resurface?
I sighed a number of times as I sat down at my computer this morning. I didn’t look forward to the days ahead. It had taken me months to subdue my desire to write, so I knew it would take an equal number of months to reactivate it to its full strength.
Boy, was I wrong! It took less than a page.
I was deep in a scene–so deep I felt the heat of the flames that were part of the scene–when a tidal wave of adrenaline hit. My body tingled with energy and my mind exploded with ideas. As the adrenaline wave washed over me it obliterated every trace of restraint I’d spent months developing.
Whew! What a relief!