These past few weeks, I’ve suffered from a lack of words. Not of the verbal variety, but of the written. My family members and co-workers can attest to the fact that my verbal skills are still very much alive. Sadly, all those lovely (or not so lovely) words which so effortlessly spew from my mouth all day long decide to hide from me the moment I open up my laptop.

Procrastination. This word has become the embodiment of my Wordless December. I’ve fallen into a pattern of staring at my Microsoft Word document for several minutes before deciding I must check my email. All three of my email accounts. Then I check Facebook, authonomy.com, and twitter. Then I read the various blogs I subscribe to. After bouncing from site to site, I skip back to my Word doc. Sadly, the book has not progressed while I’ve been elsewhere. The words still escape me, so it’s back to checking my email once again.

Writer’s block has become the bane of my existence. So, here’s the question: Can a writer force his or herself to write?

The answer, quite simply, is yes. I’ve given myself a strict daily word count to adhere to and the permission to write utter garbage. Looking back at first (or second or third) drafts of my previous novels, very few of the original words made the cut during rewrites and edits. My final drafts barely resemble the first draft, so if I write total crap, does it matter? Not really.

What matters is this: I am writing. Crap.