It happens to every man who gets joy from writing. Once in a while he will put pen to paper and nothing appears. He might scribble a few thoughts but nothing comes together or makes much sense. Writing becomes then a mere chore. If he makes his living by writing he must force the words out somehow. But such thoughts seldom have the force of imagination behind them.

That is where I am these days. If hours spent staring at a computer screen automatically resulted in something I would have written a novel by now. But there is nothing. There are ideas, true. But getting them out of my mind and into an essay has proven nigh impossible.

What is worse is that I can find no particular reason why this is so. If I could I would apply a remedy. But all is guesswork.

So I will leave it alone for a while and get back to it when it makes sense to do so—when it is impossible not to do so.

May that hour arrive soon.