Last week, something tragic occurred two blocks from my house: a teenager took his life by jumping in front of the morning train. I’d heard the news, but as I walked my dogs the next day, I was still startled to pass the train station and see the memorial. Flowers, notes, and candles were arranged …
I have terrible writer’s block today. I’m talking the worst. I’ve stared out the window, snacked on stale peanuts, made a cup of tea and let it get cold while I paced around, yelled in frustration (just once), done two loads of laundry, and bought a pair of boots online.
All I want to do is write about being thankful. Why is it so hard? I think it’s not because I have nothing to say, but because there’s too much and no easy place to start.
👉 Enjoy dedicated writing space just steps from Lake Michigan
👉 Benefit from one-on-one developmental editing sessions