When the Black Dog Howls

It’s been a tough year.

I’ve been visited by the Black Dog all too often over the past months. He usually bays at the door, sniffs around my feet,and leaves. This time he’s curled around my legs, only relenting on occasion, to stretch his legs for a while. But there seems no reprieve. He keeps returning, curling tighter.

I’ve not dipped into depression often. Oh, it’s tried to pull me down but the anxiety usually kicks in. I try to distract myself, keep busy, and ride it out. This year it’s been much harder to ignore.

Whether it’s the Covid situation, racial hate, friends’ heartaches, personal issues, feeling trapped in my own house – I don’t know. Maybe all of them have conspired against me? Being an empath personality sucks; I take on the emotions of others – great for writing, but plays hell on my own. It’s exhausting.

But I trudge along, trying to fulfil my promises, to provide you the rewards you deserve. You are all amazing! Words are mulling around in my head. So many stories trying to burst into the world… but they are stifled, dragged back by that mongrel dog.

I suppose it’s all grist for the writers’ mill, as they say. But it’s hell at the moment. I need to finish this book. Too many characters want their story told. I want – no, NEED – to share it with others. To prove I deserve the support of my Patrons and my readers. To prove I can still do it. To prove I’m useful. To prove my right to exist.

In the meantime, I’m researching marketing, transferring eBooks, trying to wrangle recalcitrant computers to sort out this month’s Behind the Scenes, and consuming excessive amounts of dark chocolate. And feeling thankful I have supporters who believe in me. 

When the Black Dog Howls