This morning is a semi-writer's block morning. I say "semi" because words are being written, but I'm feeling forced. The writing is not flowing. Up until this morning, the story I'm working on has practically put itself on the paper. My frenzied fingers have flown over the keyboard of my cute little laptop. The characters have revealed themselves. The next scene has automatically opened itself to me. Now, all of a sudden, I'm hesitating. I'm wondering, "Where do I go from here?" I try a few sentences. They feel awkward. They make me uncomfortable. I keep writing. The scene feels forced.
It reminds me of driving to Portland. For hours I'm on open freeway, cruising along through the sagebrush hills without hardly thinking about driving. Cruise control is set. Music is playing in the background. It's comfortable, easy driving. The sagebrush hills make way for the beauty of the Columbia River Gorge, but the driving is still easy and comfortable for me. The scenery has changed, but I'm still cruising. As I approach the city, traffic gets heavier. I have to touch the brake, canceling the cruise. I have to focus on what's going on around me. Driving becomes a bit more uncomfortable as I maneuver through semis, SUVs, speedy little sports cars and mini-vans. I know the Portland area fairly well, but I'm still having to watch for street signs and remind myself which exit to take. I'm alert and focused, but not necessarily comfortable. The music gets turned down. Driving is now a job, not an easy-sailing cruise.
Well, I've entered Portland this morning. The story is at a place that will take more care, more focus. I may have to maneuver around some obstacles, but that won't stop me from making it to my destination.