It seems to be this way every year — I wake up and it’s suddenly January. Christmas lights have been taken down, cinnamon candles snuffed out, gingerbread cookies meeting their fate at the bottom of a Glad bag. And the holiday season — my favorite season — has come and gone in a daze.
I have writer’s block.
I know, color you surprised. This has happened before, but this time is a little different. Yes, I don’t know what to write about, which is essentially one of the definitions of writer’s block, but I can’t seem to distinguish whether it is, in fact, writer’s block, or if I’ve just been too busy to actually form a cohesive thought.
Last week, I was asked to write a bio for myself that would appear underneath every byline I have on a corporate blog. I panicked. I don’t know what to say about myself! About a year ago, I had a short bio written for me for my bylines in iMedia Connection. I decided to recycle that bio — update my job title, added a link to my Twitter account and call it a day.
I was 12 when I received my first journal. It was cream in color, glazed with floral details and complete with a brass lock and a key. I attached the key to a chain and wore it around my neck every day. I feared if I ever removed the necklace, I would instantly lose the key and anyone would be able to break into my thoughts. I was probably right.
“We will open the book. Its pages are blank. We are going to put words on them ourselves. The book is called Opportunity and its first chapter is New Years Day.” – Edith Lovejoy Pierce