For more than two months after getting back from Seattle, I didn't write anything. Oh, I did a little revising, and I wrote a bunch of abadoned beginnings that didn't go anywhere, but essentially I didn't write anything.

Of course, I realize that's fairly normal. Possibly even an sf-writerly-cliche. Didn't stop me from freaking out about it. It was like waking up in the hospital unable to move my arms and legs, and hearing a well-meaning doctor assure me, "yeah, lots of people in your circumstances go through this. Don't worry, though, there's a better than fifty-fifty chance that in six months or so, you'll regain your mobility."

Now, one new story completed and another one half-done, I'm finally approaching a point of cautious optimism in terms of licking my post-Clarion writing slump, from which point I can maybe even look back and think about it.

The immediate cause (critical faculties being set on Clarion-induced overdrive) is certainly something that has to be ratcheded down, maybe even partially and temporarily disabled, to allow rough drafts to be born at all. *But,* even if it's volume needs to be decreased during these initial months, that's a voice that should be there, right? You don't want to turn it down *too* far.

If, post-Clarion, you don't set yourself higher standards than you knew how to before, aren't more aware of bad habits to watch out for, etc., then what on earth was the point? (I mean, other than getting to hang out with Tinas and stuff. Which is awesome. But as far as the writing part.) This is probably one of those issues about which there's no good answer other than developing an intuitive sense of it, but it seems like an enormously fine line to walk.