The Fizzle Factor

I stopped writing.  I don't know why. I gave excuses, but I knew they weren't valid.  My stimulus in starting petered out before my fire for finishing kicked in.  I began with power in my pen, but it fizzled before I developed a writing discipline. I write best in the morning, the time when other work also comes calling.  My  shared office was a pregnant passageway without doors. If people weren't interrupting me, I distracted myself by eavesdropping on them.  My habitat discouraged creativity, and I wasn't doing anything about it.

Months elapsed between the second and third chapters.  Then months grew into years.  The story continued unfolding, but I wasn't telling it.  In 2006, we started adding staff members.  I filled my time with training and oversight. Other staff left, leaving work that needed attention.  Then 2008 became the year of many crises, including some nagging pains that wouldn't go away.  In fact, they got worse.  It's all in the book, but I couldn't write about it then.  I struggled physically and emotionally.  I had nothing left for writing.

I convinced myself that 2009 would be the Year of the Book, but by April, I hadn't penned a single word. I needed a writing retreat away from Africa where I could focus on writing the book.  I planned to spend June and July in Denver.  I would write every day as a discipline, without interruptions.  It was perfect. I was excited.  It seemed too good to be true  . . .  and it was.