A writing slump is the pits.
I regularly read and write either for here or in my journal, but my drive for writing stories has shrunk to the size of an olive seed, and, as introspection isn’t a forte, it’s difficult to know what I can do to climb out of it.
I continue to write (aimlessly) but it’s not enough. It’s a pervasive plague wandering the mind, ready to take hold when laziness sets in. The continuation of writing prevents it from spreading any further, but you need to constantly dowse it with ink to keep it from getting out of control.
Writing with pen and paper, nothing beats it. It extends the imagination. I think buying a good pen is worth it. I owned a beautiful yellow Caran D’Ache I bought in Tokyo until I lost it recently on a train to Paris. Crap. I also use a soft leather bound journal with some form of ‘natural’ paper that I bought from hippies at Melbourne’s Queen Vic market; my dog loves the thing, she rubs her head into it — it’s earthy. Anyway, these little tools help bring out the creativity.
So write on, dream weaver! Stories need to be told.