It took me years of writing...not writing...agonizing because I couldn't write...struggling to write before I finally understood my process. It came in stages. First, I had no idea there was a process. Then, after a while, I came to see that it worked but I had no idea how. Then finally, I realized how my process worked. Imagine how relieved I was. This was not some mercurial "something" that came and went without reason. Now I could identify the steps and stages. Now I could feel as if I had some control over my creative energy. I could work the process. I could jump start it if it stalled out.
And then the last few months came.
It's not just that I can't write. It's that I don't care. No, that's not right either. It's more like my brain has slipped into some kind of weird torpor and I can't wake it up. I could run the same start-up routine if my brain would respond. But it doesn't. It's like it's been sedated but without the sense of well-being. In fact, it feels bad. There's some strange new dynamic in my consciousness that's affecting my ability to create.
I'm not going to panic yet. I've been through dry patches before and every time I've come out of them. But I don't like this one. I think there's some depression in here somewhere. This is new for me and I don't like it. I could list a dozen causes for it but that doesn't help restart the engine. I guess I'm just going to have to hunker down and wait it out.