I've been kind of frustrated with myself for the past six weeks or so. I had great plans to write something for The Urbanity Project, get working on some personal essays or short stories. At least type up more pages of one of my three full Moleskins. None of that happened, but just yesterday I realized why...it's the season of my writing block and I can date it back to my junior year of high school. I remember Mrs. D, my AP English teacher, getting mildly annoyed with me that spring of my 16th year as I chronically crossed out words and phrases on every practice essay for an entire month leading up to the big AP exam. I always blamed it on the tiredness at the end of a semester, but I'm no longer a student (except of the world, of course.)
So I pronounce it the witching season--a restless, unproductive spell that I forget about every year until it happens again, always around April/May. Ideas are uninspired, sentences don't flow, and paragraphs don't mesh. I think it's time for a trip to America for a little inspiration, visits with old friends, and internet that will load one picture in less than ten minutes.
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