Writing isn’t always easy. My Spellbound Scribes post about trying to get back the type of free imagination I had as a child.
Do you remember when the shapes you saw in the clouds or tree branches were mystical creatures? When the space under the dining room table was a gypsy tent or a pirate ship? When exploring the backyard was a trip to a foreign land or maybe even another planet? I do, but I don’t remember how I got there.
You see, I’ve come to the shocking (especially for a writer) conclusion that I’m not nearly as creative as I used to be. I know that’s not all that unusual for an adult, but it was a jarring realization for me. What precipitated this epiphany? A few weeks ago I read Laini Taylor’s novella Night of Cakes and Puppets. I love all of her books (seriously LOVE), but this one was special. While I was reading, it gave me that feeling I had all the time as a child, that…
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