Sadly, I’m not. What I mean is writer Nan isn’t present right now. After nearly a month of being a full-time Nanny to a three-year-old, housekeeper, chauffeur, laundress, cook, therapist, and copy editor, my creativity has taken a serious hike. And after all the stress of the last eight months—worrying over the illnesses of family and friends, stressing over Son and his stress, trying to get accustomed to retired Husband, grieving my dear sister, and being frustrated because I can't seem to write, I worry that my muse may be gone forever. I haven’t written a word on my current WIP in almost two months. That’s a long time… isn’t it?
I’m not one of those writers who works well in angst. When my life is in chaos, I’m simply not creative. And I’m wondering--really truly wondering--if maybe I’m not a writer after all. Maybe I’m an editor. Maybe it’s my job to fix other people’s writing. I realize I’m saying this after having written four novels, but you know, right now, I'm scared that I couldn't write a romance novel if my life depended on it. It’s just not there and beating myself up over it because isn't helping either. Guilt does not equal creativity.