This blog post is coming a couple of days later than originally hoped for due to circumstances that let me know in no uncertain terms, that there is life out there outside of the naturist writer persona. I am a grandfather and at times being a grandparent trumps anything else in my life. For the past week, my wife and I played at being grandparents while our son and his wife went on a well-deserved holiday. During the week, I didn’t get to the keyboard of my laptop computer even once. In the rare quiet moments, I did post photos for their parents to let them know that the two kids were having fun. That explains why I wasn’t around to post this two days ago, but it doesn’t tell the whole story.
I have run head-first, into a “writer’s block.” It slowly crept up on me while I was doing research for a new series of novels to be set in France, England, and Scotland, as well as in New France and New England. The research started to drift off into areas that had nothing to do with the plot lines of the new series. And then, I found myself spending no time in some critical editing work needed for a book that I hope to publish before Christmas – not a naturist book, but an important one for me to finally finish. I keep a journal, usually quite faithfully. However, upon checking, I see that I haven’t written in the journal since August 17th. Now that, is a warning signal that is equivalent to an ambulance travelling at high speed with both lights flashing and sirens blaring. The writer’s block is real.
Not only has the writing stopped, but so has another project, that of taking at least one daily naturist photo. The camera hasn’t been been fully put away as I do take it out to record other things such as grandchildren and their antics. But, anything introspective has vanished. And, it is the introspective element that serves as the creative well for my work as a naturist writer. Obviously something seriously has to change in order to break the spell.
For me, it meant that I had to confront myself with an image. Yesterday evening I took the photo of myself with the book that sold the best this past weekend at a book store where I was doing a book-signing event. Yes, I was avoiding the real work of writing as I began to gather up books for yet another book-signing event that happens in two weeks from now. I know that just before I leave for that trip I will be repacking the boxes and recounting the books again. I obviously caught a glimpse of procrastinating in action.
This morning, I got a second photo, one that has me packing jars with sauerkraut which my wife was busy canning. This was real work, not procrastination. And somehow, I knew that it was time to return to this computer and write this post, to be honest with you and myself. Being a writer, whether of naturist fiction or any other genre is not in the least a smooth journey. With that said, I feel that the urge to write has began to sneak in through a back door which means I will find myself writing again.