Back in Innsmouth. Again. If I was to be totally honest, the endless back and forth across Lovecraft country does wear a girl down, but I endure, as I always do.
More to the point, however. There has been, as followers of all my varied internet functions (this blog, Brass and Brown Leather, my Twitter, and my Youtube channel) know, a long lull in my productivity. And I suppose you all must wonder why that is. What exactly is it that provokes a creative individual like myself to suddenly go into what amounts to hibernation?
Obviously there are many answers to such a question, and the strain of everyday life is first on the list. Managing a social interactions (never my strong point), as well as household responsibilities, my own obsessions, and the often overwhelming sense of existential angst that seems to be common to most 20 somethings with a brain can easily gang up and drag me away from my writing. Then there are the times when my muse simply ups and leaves on me. Why that happens tends to vary between the arcane and the utterly obvious. In this case, he (my muse) simply got sick of me torturing myself with an intensely boring book and took a vacation. That sort of writer’s block is sudden, and on the occasions where the issue is obvious I can usually stop the unproductive behavior and kick start my creativity back into action. Unfortunately, I had to read that damned book regardless of my opinion on the subject, and as such even after I’d finished it my muse opted to sulk and refused to return. This, in collusion with my life becoming its own, subtle sort of deeply screwy, kept me locked in unproductive torpor far longer than I should have been. Like Cthulhu or his many star spawn relatives, the stars weren't right, and I hung in stasis waiting for reallignment and the return of my 'powers'. Eventually, however, my muse returned, and I’m functional agai
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