Okay, technically, it's not writer's block. It's writer's paralysis. Writer's dread. Writer's deep procrastination...
I will be giving a talk in Toronto next week on the spirituality of the Pauline Family, something you'd think I'd be deeply familiar with after thirty-one years. I even attended a year-long, graduate-level course on it! No matter. It's still a very scary thing to attempt to organize content into a new synthesis for a new group of people, hoping all the while that you'll get some amazing flash of insight somewhere along the way so that you'll have something to say that you haven't said so many times before it feels like cheating.
Naturally, today I spent more time moving books on the shelves than moving the pen across the paper. I mean, and it's true, the bookshelves are horribly messy and distracting, and I had no where to put the New Orleans cookbooks Mom gave me unless I moved some books.
Meanwhile, we're one day closer to that talk.