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Brick walls

This is an old post from my old blog, Bountiful Healing. I am way behind with my writing for NaNoWriMo, and I feel stuck. I decided to reblog this here as a reminder that sometimes all you have to do is sit down and start writing. Eventually the words will flow. Whether or not they are the words I want, that’s a different story, but at least it is a start.

Bountiful Healing

Lately writing has felt like hitting a brick wall.

I sit at the table staring out at the darkness waiting for the pond to appear and listening to the rhythmic patter of the rain on the roof, avoiding today’s writing topic of “Shapes like stars,” and wondering how anyone can come up with such prompts.  What does that mean?  A car whizzes by and the house heat kicks on with the usual drone and hum, warm air swirls around my feet.  I put the pen to paper, to the brick wall, seeing the worn rusty color of each brick, the mortar that holds them together, the nooks and crannies and dings.  I think about the brick wall we built last summer.  Mortar, made with cement.  I write:  “Marilyn Monroe was shaped like a star and has a star on a sidewalk to show for it.”  The bricks begin to crumble…

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