Blood from a turnip, blood from a stone...no matter from what you are metaphorically trying to squeeze blood, sometimes it just ain't gonna happen.
I've felt like this sometimes. I put my kid in his jogging stroller, grab my ipod and jogging shoes, and hit the trails ready to be inspired, or to at least get some ideas for the next chapter. But recently, nothing has been coming to me. Nothing. Blood from a turnip.
So I've learned the importance of fallowing. I'm not an English major, so I don't know if putting an -ing on the end of the word fallow is correct, but lets just say for our purposes it is.
The definition of Fallow brought to you by my good friends at dictionary.com-
Land that has undergone plowing and harrowing and has been left unseeded for one or more growing seasons.
Farmers sometimes let plots of land fallow or rest for a season. Overworked land produces poor crops. An overworked mind produces crappy writing. I think of my brain as a field sometimes, and not just because it's full of dirt and bugs. But the field of my head sometimes needs to rest. Sometimes I've squeezed everything out of it. I need to fallow.
During the writing process, I've learned to trust myself enough to walk away, to let my head rest. Let the characters marinate in my brain. When I come back after my season of fallowing, I find that my brain is no longer a turnip, but a field ready to give an excellent growing season.