This has been the long, hot summer for me. Very long. Very hot. Very lethargic. Only now have the temps begun to be in the normal summer range and not the skull-charring 90's they've been the last few weeks. (Hey, this is Ohio; it's not supposed to compete with the arid, scorching West.)
Seems that when the summer temps began to soar, my writing urge began to dwindle. It trickled, like a creek bed under the relentless Mr. Sol until, finally, nothing even remotely refreshing was moving from my brain to the laptop. The Slump was on.
It's not over, either, but I'm trying to prime the pump, so-to-speak. I hate this slump. It's the longest one I've ever had. And worse, it has come with friends. It brought Ms. Despair, Mr. You-Are-Boring, and Miss Pack-It-In along to help me stay slumped and miserable.
But I have a ray of hope, slim as it may be: I read my Powerful Odor of Mendacity manuscript, and I was cracking myself up. I actually had to convince myself I'd even wrote it--it was THAT good. Excuse the bragging, but I have to give in to a smidgen of self-praise just to hold on to the hope that The Slump will end--one of these days.
I was worried, at first, but now I've become eerily content to ride it out (or maybe I'm just still lethargic.) I have faith The Slump will pass, and until then, I'll keep priming.