A lot of writers suffer from mental illness. Many of them famously self-medicated with alcohol and drugs.

I’m in a crisis. One of my cats, Trixie, had to be put down because she suddenly got sick. I, of course, am blaming myself for that decision–could I have done something more? If I hadn’t paid bills, I could have saved her. If I had done a lot of things, I could have saved her. I’m still kicking myself for it.

And I’m depressed.

I should just write, but I can’t seem to get the gumption, the energy, to put pen to paper or fingers to keyboard. So if I can’t write, then I can read.

When the well has run dry or been blocked, I have found that it’s time to refill the well.  I will read writing books, watch war movies, and generally do “research” for my books. Then, when this is over, I’ll get back to writing.

Artist’s way update:

I’ll be honest, sleep is more important than writing. I know, I know, I should set my priorities straight. Maybe this week I’ll think that writing is more important…Maybe.