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The return to daily writing has been a pleasure, but I’m struggling to find time to write. Lately, the best time has been late at night after everyone else has gone to bed. In and of itself, that’s fine, but that’s also the time that I am most likely to say ‘to hell with it’ and go off to bed myself. It’s taken a push to get myself to sit down and do it every night. Once I get started I’m fine, but fighting inertia hasn’t been easy.

I haven’t returned to the productivity levels I’d experienced before the break. Previously, I’ve been able to count on 1500 words a day. Now 1000 seems more likely.

***I just checked my log. The decline in output more accurately coincides with the switch to a pen from the keyboard. It’s easier to sit and write anywhere using pad and pen, but the cost is an average of perhaps 500 words a day. The writing muscles in my hand need to be strengthened? I need to push myself more to lengthen my sessions?***

Something else new happened to me a couple of nights ago. I’d heard of the phenomenon, but hadn’t experienced it myself. A hatred, an utter loathing, for my story hit me as I was sitting down. For several moments I wanted nothing to do with it. I had the urge to chuck it all and start from scratch. The moment passed, and I had a decent run at the page, and by the time I was done for the evening I felt perfectly comfortable and satisfied with how things sat.

I’m sure everyone has felt something akin to this, but it was a first for me. Like just about every other obstacle we encounter as writers, the first, best, prescription is just bulling our way through until we get past the moment and our muse returns.