- Wendy Harrison
- Feb 1
- 2 min read
Since the beginning of 2025, these words have been taped over my desk although I know no Latin. I came across them in an article about advice for fighting off writer’s block. NO DAY WITHOUT A LINE. How hard could it be? Write one line every day to get the creative juices flowing, in spite of anything life threw at you. Sure. Easy peasy. Until real life got in the way.
Distractions during 2025 came from every direction. The adoption of a needy, untrained, eight-year-old Shitz-oodle for one. Arlo arrived in April, un-housebroken, un-leash trained, ferocious with other dogs, and suffering from major separation anxiety. My days were consumed with his needs. After months of hard work, he overcame his issues with the help of Prozac. Really. Too bad he refused to share.
At the end of each day, no writing had been done, not even one line. I’m in awe of writers who have young children but still find a way to churn out whole books on a regular basis. Maybe I’m just too old to learn to juggle.
2025 also brought a cascade of medical problems that left me without the energy to attempt any form of creativity and provided more excuses for not writing. I resisted the impulse to tear down the sign over my desk. Surely, at some point, I’d be back to myself and start writing again. But I didn’t factor in what should have been unthinkable.
The political nightmares that overwhelmed us this past year have interfered with the creative lives of everyone I know. We’ve all wrestled with this question. How important is writing another short story or weaving a beautiful coverlet or relearning to play the clarinet when our world is on fire, burning down everything that was good about our democracy and destroying the moral fiber of our Constitution? Will the forces of evil ill win if we let them control our lives, when the effect is as small as a story not written, a coverlet woven, or a clarinet played?
This blog entry is my answer. Nulla dies sine linea, my friends.
