Two things have been missing in my life this past summer. The first is hummingbirds. I love hummingbirds! They are quaint little creatures that are extremely territorial; they zip through the air like fighter jets, swooping and soaring at rocket speeds.

Every spring, I hang out my red feeders, waiting in happy anticipation for the first sighting. This spring, I waited in vain. I saw one hummer, then none. No worries, I said to myself. The influx of hummers usually comes in around Father’s Day. June came and disappointment ruled again. Where were all the hummingbirds?

The second thing missing in my life lately is my writing. I’ve been in a slump so long; it’s downright scary. My muse seems to have taken flight with the hummingbirds and stayed away. Not that I should wait for the muse to strike in order to write; writing should be an ingrained habit; just sit at the keyboard and do it. I’m sorry to say I’ve fallen out of the habit, and it’s making my life miserable.

So what’s wrong with me? I have a beautiful writing office, a lovely laptop, a published book and
another contracted and ready for release. Why do I still let the doubt demons rule? I don’t have the answer to that. Many of my writing friends also fall prey to the doubt demons, so I’m not alone.

But I must say, things are looking up. Last week, the hummingbirds returned with a vengeance. I put out my five feeders, and the tiny creatures are zipping and zooming all over the place. I’m also happy to say that my muse showed up, too. I’m working on a new novella, and I’m excited about the story. I also pulled out one of my favorite manuscripts and read it. Not bad. I’m going to polish that sucker up and send it to my editor. Because I am a writer, damn it. And that’s what writers do.

AM