I attempted to write two or three stories in the last month and failed each time. Only just now did I manage to write words that I'm going to keep, and those are in the form of a 158-word sci-fi flash fic that I probably won't want to talk about a year from now. It's quite clear to me that I've gone a bit rusty and my writing muscles have already begun to atrophy. Exhibit A: "White, Rubbery Dragoon Uniform."
Having written something at least, good or strange and mediocre, I feel a little better about the decline of my writing abilities. I really hope I can kick myself into writing more frequently, even though I'm now juggling school as well as various other commitments. My fear is that it shall take at least as long for my writing muscles to return to peak fitness as it took for them to decline. I pray that I underestimate myself.