The Bridge is Out

It’s been a long time since I rock-n-rolled or wrote a friggin’ word of fiction or posted a blog.  It isn’t that I’m lacking ideas.  No, quite the opposite, actually.  My mind is an idea factory and quite a productive one at that.  Yet each day I open up a brandy-spanking new blank document and find myself chasing my floater around the bare, white screen instead of filling it with words.  There is an apparent disconnect between my imagination and my typing fingers.  The bridge is out, leaving my ideas tumbling and multiplying uselessly in my rather complicated gray matter while my keyboard waits patiently for my mute-struck hands to catch up.

I feel like I’ve been given a gift that I refuse to open.  I mean writers struggle with ideas, right?  Well, I have those and I also know how to form words into sentences and that if I string enough sentences together, I will achieve a paragraph, and if I have so many paragraphs, I will eventually tell you a whole story.  But what’s stopping me?  Lack of confidence in my ability to write well has in the past made me feel squeamish about anyone reading anything I’ve written but it’s never prohibited me from writing at all. 

As most of you know, I have no trouble keeping up with a conversation or commenting on most of your blogs or publishing my inane randomness on Facebook (not so much with Twitter, which I am having a seriously hard time warming up to), so I do have thoughts and ideas which I am able to convey in reaction to something else.  But why can’t I seem to pull myself out of myself without prompting?  What’s up with me?

I am thoroughly perplexed but hopeful…I did write this, didn’t I?