Wednesday, September 23, 2026 — Orlando, Florida
Hi, everyone. I hope your Wednesday is treating you kindly.
In stark contrast to Monday’s highly productive writing day, I have to admit that yesterday’s new word count was…zero. Not zero‑ish. Not “I almost wrote a sentence.” Zero.
But honestly? At this point in my writing life, I’ve learned that a zero‑day isn’t a catastrophe—it’s just part of the rhythm. If you’ve followed my storytelling adventures since I began Reunion: Coda back in the spring of 2023, you already know the pattern: one day I hit or exceed my modest 1,000‑word goal, and the next I’m sitting at my desk, introducing my forehead to the keyboard and wondering why Calliope decided to take a personal day.
This isn’t new. It happened plenty of times during the long, twisty birthing process of my first novel, and even though the projects since then have been smaller, the occasional bout of self‑doubt still shows up uninvited. It visits every writer—Joyce, Angelou, Oates, Hemingway, even the astonishingly prolific King. I’m in excellent company, even if writer’s block insists our feud is deeply personal.
What makes yesterday’s stall so odd is that I’m working on a story that’s been quietly living in my mind for over a year: And the Horse You Rode in On. It first tapped me on the shoulder last summer, right after I applied for a copyright for Comings and Goings – The Art of Being Seen. Like that novelette, Horse wasn’t part of any Grand Blueprint for a shared Jim Garraty universe. It simply raised its hand while I was revisiting the Prologue to Reunion: Coda—specifically, the vignette where Jim and Mark walk home after their final day at South Miami Senior High.
That vignette—The Last Afterschool Walk Home—does more than mark their passage from childhood to early adulthood. It quietly fills in pieces of their backstory I didn’t manage in 1998 when I wrote Reunion: A Story. As I revisited it while preparing The Jim Garraty Chronicles omnibus, I realized the next story after Comings and Goings ought to explore Jim and Mark before they became the “Twins from Different Families” of the Reunion duology. How did they meet? What challenges shaped them? What forged their bond? Those questions were already waiting for me.
And, as with Comings and Goings, I’d already planted a seed without realizing it: a throwaway line from Mark about something that happened in sixth grade. What I thought was just backstory flavor turned out to be the doorway to a new character and a new story. My subconscious apparently moonlights as my project manager.
As I’ve said many times on this blog, I’m not an outliner. I’ve tried it—especially with historical fiction—but preplanning every beat makes me feel confined rather than guided. I’ll outline a scene when I know exactly what the characters feel and where the moment is headed, but otherwise I treat writing like an archaeological dig. The story is already underground, waiting to be uncovered, and my job is to excavate it piece by piece. The trouble is that some days I show up with my tools and the ground refuses to give up even a tooth.
Yesterday’s blockage wasn’t mysterious. It was the usual cocktail: financial anxiety, indie‑author challenges, not enough sleep, and the general fatigue of being older, tired, and trying to create art on a fixed income in 2026 Florida. I can have a clear vision for a story—and believe me, Horse is vivid in my mind—and still find the spark refusing to catch if my mind and body aren’t aligned.
So today, I’m choosing kindness toward myself. After I post this, I’m taking a short rest break. It’s already past one in the afternoon, so it won’t be my usual two‑hour timeout—just enough time to eat lunch, read a little, and come back to the desk with purpose instead of pressure.
If you’ve ever wrestled with your own creative rhythm, I’d love to hear how you navigate the zero‑days. Drop a comment, share your experience, or just say hello. We’re all digging for bones together.
Share your thoughts with the world!