An envelope was sitting on my doorstep today. No return address, just my name printed in block letters, stark and official. I cautiously opened it, and pulled out a sheaf of papers.

The pages were yellowed with age, stiff and crackling. The blue ink was faded and pale.

Puzzled, I began to read. The story was unfamiliar, the language flowery, prose-like, an ode to magic and mystery. The secrets of night and the glory of dawn, all wrapped into a few sheets of scribbled notes. Diagrams and equations filled the margins, complex mathematics beyond my comprehension. Theories of gravity and coincidence, planetary alignment, faerie magic and brain chemistry, the Answers were here. It was all here.

The handwriting was mine.

My hands began to shake, the brittle pages trembled. I had no memory of writing these words, filling the lines with such care.

How could I have written this?

The clumsy cursive was unmistakable, the smears from my left hand were an unequivocal signature. I still had ink blots from a letter I had written this morning, freshly marking my skin like a tattoo. The stains matched, mirror images. Like birthmarks, fingerprints; there was no doubt.

My words. How could these be mine?

I stood there for a long time, trying to make sense of it. With each reading, I felt farther away from the conclusion, farther away from what I was supposed to understand.

And then the pages began to crumble.

Disintegrating before my eyes, the fragile words turned to dust, leaving nothing but glitter and ash in my hands.


Still 12,000+

I feel like there are two main types of blocks when it comes to my writing: Time & Juice.

There are days when I have ideas! Juice! Creativity is flowing! I want to write! I know what I want to say, and words come pouring out onto the page. Then Time steps in; oh right, I have a full-time job. I have a home to maintain, cats to feed.

Responsibilities… * shiver *

Blast. That’s okay, it isn’t like the ideas will go away, the words will still be there after work, or tomorrow!


Most days I am tired after work; physically, emotionally and mentally. I have a semi-stressful job that involves a lot of work on a computer. By the time I get home I tend to be zoned out and drained, and the last thing I want to do is try to ramp up the energy and get some writing done.


Sometimes the words aren’t there. A mere 24 hours after I was revved up on a creativity high, juices are flowing and I don’t have the time to get that energy to paper… oh, my ideas have dried up. I have a few hours to work on my story. I know the plot, the characters, the scene… but the style isn’t there. Or I don’t have the desire to write. Poof. Gone.

Time & Juice. Sometimes (a lot of the time) they don’t align, and I am stuck staring at a blank page.

It can be frustrating, I try to fill my juice-less time with an influx of media.

Pinterest is my go-to; am very motivated by imagery, and love putting together boards that represent my stories, moods or scene styling that I can see in my head.

Instagram is fun, more great images and connection to other creators out there, and Twitter is a great place to follow other writers!

Help me out, friends. What motivates you? What keeps you writing when the words are hard to come by, or the words you are putting down just kind of… suck? What else can I do to get that extra push?

While I wait for my Time & Juice to cooperate, you can find me here:

Pinterest: AA Czostedt.
Instagram: aaczostedt
Twitter: @Czostedt