What happens when I don’t write for more than eight days.

I feel disconnected from my story, like I’m looking at it from the outside, through fogged glass; seeing only mist where there used to be the purple skies of Stellaris.

I hate it. And at the same time, I know I’m doing the best I can.

The last two weeks have been a hollow, miserable, bone-tired hell. My inner child showed up unannounced, whispering that I’m trapped, scared, and unable to do what I want. So I had to sit with her to remind her that we’re not there anymore. We’re safe. We’re in control of our lives.

That reassurance came at a cost: emotional drainage, pure exhaustion, and the effort of keeping work, kids, and the house running. Writing wasn’t possible. Reading was a necessity.

So now I’m gathering tips and advice from other writers. Because if there’s a problem, then there’s a solution.

So I am solving this.