(Photo by Kevin Bosc on Unsplash)
Some days, I feel spent even before I set my feet on the ground. Not physically, but on the creative front. I drink copious amounts of coffee, play with the kids, walk the dog and read an excellent book. But when I sit down in front of my screen, I come up with an enormous ball of blah. There are no ideas in the old noggin, not even a kernel of one — all I can hear is the empty echoing of half-thoughts, tumbleweeding across the arid landscape. Evenings have always been my favorite part of the day to write, but recently I’ve begun glancing at the watch, feeling the blankness grow and consume me as the clock approaches 7.