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Sometimes life just throws stuff at you, stuff that can’t be avoided; great steaming piles of Big Stuff. Stuff that takes time to process. Suffice it to say,  I have been mostly failing to deal with the latest big lump of Life Stuff, and unsurprisingly, the writing part of me has been scuppered. Yes, for the past two weeks, I have been having writer’s block. So much for this, and this, then, although there may still be hope for the latter, if only I can actually succeed in wrapping my head around what is happening and DEAL with it. Sorry to be cryptic, but the thing is too personal, and huge, to talk about directly. The issue under discussion here is the effect on my writing. It is frustrating and stifling, and feels petty and trite, and yet I know that it isn’t, it is only a side effect of what is going on. At least I don’t feel guilty – that’s one less thing to deal with. (Small mercies, etc…)

I have had writer’s block before, for other personal reasons. I got through it, despite some people unhelpfully telling me that they never suffer from writer’s block, don’t understand it, and possibly don’t even believe in it. After I overcame the urge to remove their head from their shoulders via their bowels, and practised some deep breathing, I did feel much better. And I will get through this, I just have to bite the bullet and deal with the Thing. But it is going to be a long process, and not easy.

In the meantime, there are other pleasures that I have been enjoying; the day to day business of motherhood, the summer holidays and my daughter’s suddenly active social life – lots of birthday parties recently – and watching the skies for rain, whilst the scent of honeysuckle intoxicates the warm night air. And yes, I have been indulging my fetish for hanging out laundry in the small hours of the morning, often while mostly dishabille.

Sleep beckons now. This is the most I’ve written anywhere, in the last fortnight, so I suppose it must be regarded as a kind of progress. One word at a time…