Book Week mania is over, and I've now had a chance to recharge my batteries, hang out with the family, smell the gorgeous salty sea breezes from my front verandah - heck, I've even cleaned the house. Technically, I should be brimming with enthusiasm, ready to smash away at the keyboard every chance I get, building my WIP towards its thrilling climax.
But I haven't written a word. Not one.
I open up my file and read snippets, hoping that will get me motivated. Some bits I read, I know are fit only for the waste disposal, but that's okay - it's only a first draft, I can cope with that. Other bits excite me. I really like my characters. I miss them, even. And I am clear about what is going to happen in the next half dozen scenes. I have visualised the scenes over and over, can hear my characters talking - calling to me. So what's my problem?
Writer's block? Nah - I know what I want to write; I just can't get my fingers to do the walking.
Lack of time? Possibly - I've started a new role at Walker Books, and am now full time, all the time, so this is probably part of the reason. (And the reason I like to hide behind.)
But if I am completely frank and honest with myself, I know the real reason. And it's not pretty.
Truth is, I'm scared.