Some days I don’t have anything to say. Others, my hands cannot keep up with my thoughts. It seems I vacillate from one extreme to the other. Writing is my comfort and my curse. The cursed cursor blinks at me, as if asking me what next? What to say? What to type? Sometimes I talk to the cursor and tell it to take a hike. There is nothing. I am blocked. Or empty.

To get even, sometimes I move so fast the cursor can barely keep up. I can hear it panting and telling me to slow down while my thoughts are tumbling onto the page. Those blessed days are my happy place. My comfort.

Lately, I have had more of the first than the second. I want to write something funny, but I cannot. I want lighthearted and meaningless. It does not come. The cursor just blinks.

I have a note in my phone where I keep ideas. When they pop into my head, I jot them down for later. While hiking. I jot. When shopping. I tittle. I scribble on a napkin, and transfer it to my list. So many ideas! My list can get long. Sometimes there is a phrase I like. Or I think of a title. Or I hear a quality quote. When I get stuck, I open the page to jiggle the memory of what I wanted to write. Inevitably, something jumps out, begging to be next.

I just looked at my list. Only four ideas there. None of which are jumping out for today. Seems my stream is drying up. I am not worried really. There are always ebbs and flows in creative processes. I am a writer, which means I write. No matter if there is something to write about or not. It is part of my life.

Today I am thinking I am probably not the only one whose well is shallow. Many others are likely to be stuck in a dry spell as well. I will say it is good to have enough experience to know these dry times are temporary. No need to panic. Words are always around. The right ones will pop up when needed. But on this dreary rainy day, I have nothing profound or entertaining. Just the blasted cursed cursor.