Or maybe that should be Non-Writer's Guilt. Since Thanksgiving, I've had a devil of a time concentrating on my writing. My early morning writing time has evaporated, as I tend to roll over and sleep the extra hour and a half rather than pull myself out of bed to cuddle up with the laptop. And I find the Christmas tree a huge distraction - more often than not, I just sit and stare at it and let my mind drift all over the place.
Now, obviously, the holiday is taking my heart and mind away from the writing, and once things calm down in dark and dreary January, my muse will crawl out from whatever rock she's hiding under. I hope. But I figured this would happen, so the chunk of the story I'm writing takes place during Christmas. I thought having the Christmas tree in my face would help push my creative buttons, but it's not turning out that way.
So I'm feeling guilty about it. Not huge mass-murderer guilt, but constant niggling pricks that I'm not doing what I oughta. Like not keeping to a diet or sending over-due thank you notes. Maybe I should just say to hell with it, this isn't going to happen until after Christmas, and tamp down the guilt. But, oh, I do feel like a lazy, no-good, sham-writer right now. Sigh.