Like everything else, writing has its seasons. From what I gather, most writers try to write something every day. But sometimes there are lulls (we don’t call it writer’s block or even mention that 😉). But even lulls can be fruitful to the imagination.
Below is poem I wrote about not having anything to write (there’s some irony for ya!). This poem is in my latest book, Event Horizon.
Lights Out Sitting in bed, head tilted back, eyes closed. Night touches down; I can feel the blank of space all around. It is at my door: airless, mute, near zero degrees. I have nothing to write. With the click of a lamp the room vanishes.