Size Seven Shoes

Lately I've been wondering if it still means as much to me to want to publish a book. It feels almost as if it doesn't matter anymore. Or perhaps I'm just still in the semi-transition mode due to adjusting to married life such that I haven't quite fallen back into a life pattern where I re-establish my other hobbies and passions in life into my routine. Let's just wait and see. But I cannot deny that some things do feel different now.

Now and then I am seized with a sense of dissatisfaction that the deep wells of ideas which I used to have of blog topics has apparently run dry. Then again, perhaps it has not run dry, but rather, I have become too lazy to fetch a bucket and send it plunging into the great depths to draw out whatever imagination there is inside of me. Imagination does not come easy these days. Some people say it's easier to create high quality works of art whenever an artist is plagued by melancholy or sadness. While that's true, I really wouldn't want to go back to such misery again just so I can produce some remarkable masterpiece. I'm happy where I'm at now. Surely this can't always be true, and there is a way that I can still write great stuff while being content with life?