Where Have I been?

Where Have I been?

Receding into my writer's blocked mind. Like most writers, I believe, I possess a ludicrous amount of self doubt and loathing. I hate my writing. However, I've managed to write, to somehow enjoy writing and understand the compelling force that sends my fingers clicking across a keyboard and stringing together letters and words. Now that I am in my second semester as a writing student, I have fallen into a pit of ennui. I hate my characters, I have no new ideas, I can't read what I've written. Is it some sort of seasonal affected depression? Is it the six weeks of fighting a knarly and inhumane cold? Is it second semester jitters? Or have I reached the end of my writing career before it even started?

I am chatty cathy, loquacious, as I've stated earlier. I once commented (in reply to someone calling me chatty) that I have a LOT to say. And yet, as of late, I have nothing to say.