I’ve been wrapped in a funk for about a month now. It’s got its arms all over me, has tightened its hold, and is in the process of devouring me head-first. I feel very much like the illustration in one of my Gerald Durrell novels I had as a kid, the one where he went to the Amazon, wrestled an anaconda, and nearly lost his life.

Strangled. Smooshed. Suffocating.

That’s me.

Add nasty and horrible bitch to the list and I think that pretty much sums me up as of late. Gone is the carefree woman coasting on some good writing juju – au revoir! – forgotten are the smiles and laughter and excitement – ciao! – lost is the confidence and belief in myself and my capabilities – adios! I feel like a shell of the person I was while I was writing The Sanctum Trilogy and sitting…