Untethered might be a better word for it. Since December 1, I’ve written 12,000 words. I have another 10,000 or so to go. They aren’t exactly pouring from my fountain pen. The scenes to the end of the book are outlined, each with its own color-coded index card, but when I sit down to write, I feel like Harry Potter. You know, in the scene with Dolores Umbridge when he does lines for punishment. In blood.
My writer friends call this the post-NANO blues. I can’t say I’m blue, but I am trying to find the right gear to move forward.
CRISPLY SPOKEN 