The quantity of words being added to my latest novel over the last two weeks has been abysmal, to say the least. I won’t bore you with the excuses I have for not writing, but the physical, mental, and emotional things I have been wading through lately are reasonable justifications for my inability to put words on a page.

As I looked out my window at the darkening sky, I talked myself into trying to write. My own words echoed in the kitchen as I repeated the mantra ‘I’m going to try’. As those words fell onto my kitchen floor, shattering into a thousand invisible pieces, I surprised myself by immediately uttering this well-known phrase in my best Yoda voice.

This quick blog post is the start of my doing. This is the place where the freedom of words has no limitation and I can allow my brain to create strings of words that have some sort of meaning, even if they are only meaningful to me.

It is time to kick the imposter syndrome back into the gutter where it belongs, find my chutzpah that seems to have gone into hiding, and write the words that will fill the pages until book number four is complete. Do, or do not, there is no try. Indeed.