I don’t believe in the notion of writer’s block. I think it’s too easy to end up building a twisted shrine to it—to proclaim the affliction, then festoon one’s writing life with it, saying, “I’m blocked,” over and over again, as if abdicating responsibility for creating the blockage and waiting for magical bolts of inspiration to come down from the sky and unstopper it all (which only happens in the movies, right?).
When people hear the word “resolutions” at this time of year, they tend to think of next year. As in, “Next year, I’ll make resolutions.” “Next year, my ‘future self’ will surely have the discipline to accomplish the big things I wanted to do this year.” But what about the resolutions you made this past January?