It’s been a minute – exactly a month, to be exact. And honestly I’m not entirely sure why I’ve lost all enthusiasm for writing lately. I know it’s not a simple black or white answer, and that in itself feels oddly comforting.
Even this little piece feels like a slog, my fingertips fighting against each tap of the keyboard. I keep carving out time to write, only to find it swallowed up by other distracting to-do items instead.
On the plus side, one of those distractions has been launching a honey business at the end of 2025. Being completely honest, I got fed up of my partner John and his ever-growing stockpile of honey that had been accumulating for the past two years. He’s a fabulous beekeeper, but his selling skills need some work. So I’ve taken it upon myself to become PR and marketing. (Follow us on Insta if you’re interested.) It’s actually quite fun – but it’s one heck of a distraction from writing.
A Writer’s Block Creative Pause
Someone recently asked how my latest book launch was going, and to be honest – not great. Though how would it, when I’ve launched it mostly to friends and family who aren’t my ideal audience? A shift in social media algorithms means that unless I’m willing to pay significant sums of money, it’s unlikely the right readers will ever find me online. So it’s not that I’ve given up. I’m assessing my options. Taking a step back, slowing things down, while I figure out my next move, and looking elsewhere for inspiration and ways to channel my creativity, hoping I’ll eventually return with renewed energy and a clearer plan.
And then there’s the state of the world – which feels like the understatement of the century.
Each anxiety-ridden news headline seems a little worse than the one before it. I bought tinned goods last week. I have no real idea how four tins of rice pudding are going to save me if some kind of doomsday energy crisis becomes our next reality, but here I am – preparing for catastrophe as if I’m living out my own little episode of Paradise, the one where rice pudding saves everyone.
I know I should be reading more too. Reading, along with autumn, and sad love songs, is one of those things that consistently ignites my writing. But I’ve fallen into a bad habit of relying on audiobooks, which I’ve never quite counted as real reading. Great for long car journeys, absolutely. But they don’t offer the same satisfaction as the lick of a finger and the turn of a page. Audiobooks don’t pull you into a story in quite the same way, even when the narration is wonderful.
So I find myself in a strange reading rut – audiobooks are aplenty, but they’re not scratching the itch.
And once again, I’m frequently doom-scrolling (to check whether I need more rice pudding). That said, I am halfway through a friend’s self-published book about her adventures as a holiday rep in Switzerland – It’s a Wunderbar Life – and it’s genuinely brilliant. If that sounds like your kind of thing, seek it out. I just don’t feel that same compulsion to read that I normally would.
The weight of worldly uncertainty, a creeping sense of hopelessness, this seemingly never-ending winter – which is finally showing signs of loosening its grip – a second self-published book I’m struggling to sell, and a new business venture quietly consuming my creative energy. All of it together is contributing to what I can only describe as a writing imbalance.
And I think that’s okay.
That’s the message I keep coming back to. It’s okay to slow down, to stop, even, for a while. Especially right now, in this chaotic moment where hope feels a little thin on the ground. As writers, we don’t have to constantly project, constantly have opinions, constantly be producing – unless we genuinely have something we want to share.
It’s okay to be quiet for a little while.
I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: a writer’s mind is never truly still. We’re always collecting – experiences, opinions, thoughts, both our own and others’. Watching. Waiting. Whole worlds forming in the stillness, even when the words won’t come. Quiet doesn’t mean we’ve lost our way. Quiet for me is often the process of finding the path.
I see other writers channelling their beautiful words as a kind of fight back against the chaos of the world right now, and they’re incredible. But truthfully, I don’t want to write pieces that feel engineered to jump on a trend or chase new followers. That’s not what writing is for me. Those kinds of pieces would ring hollow coming from me – it would be like asking Stephen King to write a romance novel. Possible, probably not pretty, and someone would inevitably ask: Why?
It’s not my strong suit, and I’ve made my peace with that.
Instead, I’ll keep sharing the words of those writers who do get it right.
Those writers who consistently write compelling, compassionate pieces that bring a little brightness into a world that feels, right now, a little too dark.
So if you’re a writer going through an unexpected pause —- one that crept up on you without warning, that you can’t quite explain, that feels like it might never end – I promise you’ll find your way back.
The words will come. They always do.
Amy Roullier
Amy Roullier is a British author and poet based in Lincolnshire. She’s a devoted lover of carbs (her true soulmate) and is currently navigating a midlife crisis one run at a time. Her NEW collection: Sundays with Myself, is coming 3rd February 2026. Her debut poetry collection Silent Reflections of a Fragile Heart, is out now on amazon. To subscribe to weekly essays on embracing life on your own terms, romanticizing solitude, and empowering independence, check out her Substack, Independently Yours. For more of her emotional poetry and reflections, follow her on insta @aroullier_writes
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