Parallels

I'm reading Pompeii by Robert Harris. (Along with an anthology of short stories by Joyce Carol Oates and The Untelling by Tayari Jones.)

Anyway, at the point where I'm reading Attilius, an engineer in charge of the Aquaduct, is trying to figure out why it's failed, why the water has stopped flowing.

I can so relate to that. For the last six months or so, writing has been a chore. I can't remember the last time I had that "Oh, my gosh, I love this idea, this story, these characters and I can't wait to get to the keyboard" feeling. Usually, I'm looking for anything at all to do to avoid it. I've even noticed that, for a myriad of reasons, my posts here are falling off, getting shorter and shorter.

And there's stuff lately that's making the feeling worse. I have doubt demons (big ones) out the whazoo. So it's not necessarily that I need to "fill the well," but that I need to find a way to generate self-confidence. I have to do it.

Why is that such a scary thought?

(I think I'm going to go veg out and read. I think I make a good ostrich. I could cross-stitch. I've already been painting today. Anyone else have avoidance strategies they want to share?)