Quoted from David Copperfield by Charles Dickens, found at:
I wonder if that's not an accurate thought. Are we all our own enemies. I'm inclined to think so. Who, above all else, inhibits our personal successes? We talk about, "Make or Break" and allow ourselves to break.
In case you can't tell, I'm fighting with myself right now. Each word comes out like molassis. Each phrase feels as though it needs to be ripped from an atrophied brain. Why am I grinding to a halt? Why am I letting myself?
I have stuff to write. The thoughts and dialogue and scenes have not stopped. My mind can still slip into each world like its home, but my inclination is to just nap there. Hang out with my characters and watch paint dry. Why do my fingers not want to obey what my mind and heart so wants to do?
Am I waiting for something? Perhaps I need another rejection to come in the mail so I can feel the need to push on a bit more. That's harsh, but its the truth. Okay, enough chatting, back to slogging.