The publication of my collection has been put back significantly. I have about fourteen of the poems written to my satisfaction, a few that still need to be edited, but that's all. The poems, as a whole, still have no movement, they are, by themselves, rather stunning, but my original idea for the collection just feels too stagnant. So I'm back to square one, only with two years of graduate school done and nothing to really show for it.

I write things, but they're running around in circles and I can write notebooks full of verse and rhyme, even just scribbling down thoughts. I have pages of indented ink and pencil, and I don't even get a single sentence worth developing. I go out and people watch, but it seems like all the things that used to make me look, all the expressions that used to make me wonder, just seem too self-evident.

I understand that I writing is hard work and not all divine lightning of inspiration, but at this time I would settle for a shock on the doorknob. I understand that this happens to most writers, all writers, and that it will pass.
What if it doesn't?