I finished the draft of a book. And though I tried to turn right back to it and revise the ending, the words seemed to resist. The pages just need to rest awhile before I can do anything useful with them.

So I tried jumping into other projects, other stories. Nothing. I’ve wandered around in half-sentences with no direction.

I tried writing a blog post, a small thing to put up here. Nothing for days.

Something is calling for rest, for a pause.

Perhaps I’m procrastinating the actual rest, but I’m reading about rest, largely because I often make the mistake of believing that all answers have been written down somewhere.

Historically, I haven’t been good at rest, but I’m going to give it a go.