Writing can be such an exciting sport event, the words hurling out of your head like serves from Serena Williams. Bang bang bang....the fingers can hardly keep up with the images falling from their tips, some even getting lost as they appear so quickly.  The visual pictures run together in your mind as if you were watching a movie and you are hell pressed to make sure everything in your head arrives to the page accurately.

Then other times it's horrible, slow, and tedious.  There is no sport to it at all.  Instead it is more like taking that damn wishbone out of the Operation Game.  You sit there, slowly creating images.  Words are pulled out of you as a dentist would pull out an impacted wisdom tooth.  Then he tells you to spit, and that's exactly what you have written, slaved over for three hours.  There is no image.  Instead you sound wordy, supercilious, pretentious, bombastic.  BZZZZT you hit the side of the game!

So you clear the page and check out Facebook, read some blogs of friends, read some blogs of strangers, search for interesting articles, vacuum, clean up the kitchen, do some laundry, eye the ironing; anything but try to write again.  And that's how it has been going with my book.  I don't want to put it away, it's my life, but it is giving me fits!  So I'm closing it's window for awhile with the hope that it will call me again, someday, soon.

Maybe it's time to write some fiction...a real bawdy book.  One of those bodice ripper romances that make women wish they were married to men other than their husbands; the kind that are thick with sex without saying sex.  You know the ones...she was aware of his massive manhood pressed against her quivering thighs~! Or maybe I should try to write a book that would appeal to both children and adults, something cross between Harry Potter and Captain Underpants; an unloved child who finds he's a wizard that can make friends by turning them into unclothed superheros.  

Or maybe I should just stick to my blog.  I'm comfortable here.