Thursday, October 21, 2010

stupid writers block

It's not that I can't think of what to write about.  It's that I can think of SOMANYTHINGS and I don't know which one to pick.  Because I either have no business writing about it or no idea how to put it in the right words that don't make me feel like a human circus.  and not a fun circus.  or a helpful-to-know-ME-TOO circus either.  So no blog for a couple days.

[Jedi Mind Trick hand wave]  You didn't see anything.

But I HAVE to write something today because Audrey will put another virtual gun to my head if she gets into work this morning and there's nothing new to read.  Either that or she'll three dimensionally come over to my house and kill me with a Monkey Hammer.  like the kind you use to open up monkey skulls and eat their brains like in Indiana Jones.  because that's our latest plan to neutralize people who annoy the hell out of us.  and she knows where I live.  and she's got enough pent up rage and no good outlet to release it for that to possibly seem like a good idea in her mind no matter how much I think it would be like killing the goose that laid the golden egg because no goose means no more eggs ever, remember?  just put the Monkey Hammer down and back away slowly, Audrey.  I'm writing.  sometimes people have off days.

I blame the full moon cycle.  Or something else that's powerful and temporary.  Because I can't write about stupid writers block because being all meta just pisses other bloggers off and they'll stop reading and that would suck.  And I don't know how long I'll hang onto the novelty traffic left over from the reunion crowd because they're going to read for a couple days and quickly realize that despite the great party I'm just as odd as I was 20 years ago and I'm much more palatable in facebook status updates than whole entire blog posts and they'll go away too.  and then I'll be back to where I started 9 months ago before the Great Blogsperiment began.  basically alone and yelling ECHO at the edge of the pitch black internet canyon.  that would also suck.

so.  blah.  writers block.  meta bullshit.  etc.  take a can coozie on your way out.

But you know what?  Something fascinating is bound to capture my interest any second now and I'll be inspired and writing solidly every day again like it's my job and boy will you be sorry because I bet I'll even be funny sometimes too.  It's not outside the realm of possibility that I will find a fucking point to all of this and someone will say, "Hey, I've read some of what you have to say and I feel the world desperately needs to know your particular opinion about spoons.  I beg you to let me publish you immediately."  And I won't donate any of the proceeds to charity unless you consider Aruba a charity because that's where I would spend the buckets of cash from my rocketed to stardom, hugely successful "seven figure" writing career.  You'd forgive me, right?  Come on, I already do enough non profit work in real life...I feel confident in being extremely selfish with writing money.  And it's Aruba for god sakes.  totally worth it.

So anyway, that's what's going to happen next.  The moon will cycle out of its current batshit phase, I will get out of this tangled headspace and by the time my 25 year reunion rolls around I'll be a wicked celebrated author.  Pretty sure that plan will come to fruition in short order.  stay tuned.

stupid writers block

1 comment:

Anne said...

If this is how your writer's block manifests, it's unlikely you'll lose us "leftover reunion crowd following." ;)