Writing is easy, writing is easy, writing is easy . . .

As I slowly merge into writing the second book again (put on hold back in January to revise the first) I can feel the tightening of my shoulders for all the words ahead, not yet written. Usually not one to give into writer's block, I nevertheless anticipate the finding of each string of words, one after the other, praying for a rush of thoughtless flow.

Have you ever been working on a scene and it was like pulling teeth? You get something down, then stop, think, erase, write it again . . . Painful, right? And yet, when I've written like that and then later gone back to check, it all read smooth. No one would ever know the long coffee-filled hours it took to produce only a few pages of text.

There's a word angel sitting over my shoulder advising me for or against every sentence. It's a good thing. A glorious thing. No more the innocent word scribbler, we struggling writers are scholars of good grammar and thoughtful construction.

But again, I haven't forgotten Ferona and the good gifts she brings. Perhaps she can suspend me, just a little, over this manuscript and allow the words to flow . . . with a bit more ease.