I do not know what is wrong with me lately, but when I try to write, I am blank. That is why I say I suffer from Writer’s Blank rather than Writer’s Block. I do not feel there are stories inside of me unable to get out. I feel there is a vast wasteland where my brain ought to be. All this by way of introduction to yet another Throwback Thursday, because at least I hope I can manage some semblance of a blog post.
To prove to myself that I did so write something sometime, I flash back to the last murder mystery I wrote, A Revolutionary Murder, which was very well received both times it was performed. In fact, I wrote two different endings to it, in case we had an overlap of audience. Now that I think about it, it was during rehearsals and the second performance for this one that the pain in my leg started getting really bad. I have not written much since. Oh dear.
I search further in the past for more inspiration, October 2017 and A G.R.A.V.E. Murder. That was a fun one, and it featured my late, dearly missed husband Steve (he is the handsome man on the right).
I have been writing a few things here and there, entries in various journals (regular readers may recall I have several), blog posts, a very few letters. I must strive to do better. In the meantime, I am over 250 words. A writer friend assured me, writing about not writing is still writing. True? Discuss amongst yourselves.
























