The eight week memoir class I enrolled in at The Attic Institute: A Haven for Writers ended this week. Now I'm incapacitated. I can no longer write because I might use a dead verb or adverb, tell rather than show, forget to include dialogue, or go on for pages about nothing of interest.
I sit down to write and my mind is blank. The stories are trapped in my head as visions without words or at least not the right words. I want to forget everything I learned and go back to writing like a naive amateur.
This isn't true. I want to learn how to write. Just not now. Not until I extract the stories from the depths of my memory. Proper or not, I am compelled to put words on paper. Life on paper.
Today I want to forget everything I learned and just write. Oh my, "just" is an adverb.