I know exactly how this feels. The days when I could sit and write for hours and say something that writers in my Cape Cod or NYC writer’s groups raved about have vanished. I had to make a real buck, to survive, and ended up as an “International Liaison” in a very rural part of VA. Every single day I woke up wondering how I could escape because my writing was dying. I was too busy to think and, although I knew there were stories aplenty in my world, I could not keep my eyes open long enough to share them. Now, I’m practically homeless and waiting for unemployment to kick in and pay my debts, all a result of being terminated from a position I gave my soul to, only to be thrown out in a moments notice. Stolen from me was the very sinew between my thoughts and my paper.