"Writer's block"? I'm not sure it exists.
Oh, there are times when the ideas flow with the slowness of cold molasses ... there are times when the well seems to have gone completely dry ... but usually not for long.
I always carry a scrap of paper and a pen or pencil, just in case.
Then there are times when the thoughts come gushing forth ... and I wish I had my handy-dandy pocket recorder with me, so I could capture them in the midst of the heavy traffic that I'm trying to pick my way through.
Thoughts ... writing-related ideas ... are, indeed, fleeting ... and the intervals between them can seem to be endless ... but "writer's block"?
I don't really think there is such a thing ... and I hope I'm right.
I hope I can keep riding down this seemingly never-ending trail ... writing and sharing ... until ... well, until the very end.
And now, today's poem:
when I search
the rock pile
of my mind
for new ideas
my hand goes
to a pocket
where one lies
for a setting
worthy of it.
(originally published in Capper's)
Today's word: pocketed