Friday, November 11, 2005

Constipation

Mental constipation, that is.

Yeesh, that sounds bad... but that's what is ailing me right now.

I have writer's block*

It's hard for me to admit that I have a blockage because writing is kind of my thing, but after three weeks of doing anything and everything BUT writing (including, but not limited to, scrubbing the hardwood floors in the dining room that we don't use, sewing doll clothes, and Googling anything that comes into my head) it's about time that I admit it:

I'm stuck.

I got nothin'.

I can give my laptop screen the Care Bear Stare all night long, but the words will not come.

I have no inspiration, no aspiration, and no... punctuation**

I halfway think that I'm subconsciously rebelling against the whole idea of that National-You-Have-A-Blog-So-You-Think-You-Can-Write-A-Novel-In-A-Month thing that's going on***

But then I halfway wonder if I'm just done writing****

* Now, why didn't I just say that instead of making you think about an intestine all crammed with poo sausage? I don't know.

** Yeah, I was feeling a little Jesse Jackson there for a second

*** Here's my issue with that - Sure, you could probably write 50,000 words in a month, but, you know what? That doesn't mean it's going to be any good. I can microwave a burrito in 60 seconds, but that doesn't mean that it's going to be a decent meal. If you're going to do something, do it well and do it because you want to, not because there's a competition (unless it's a wet t-shirt contest or a hot whipped cream wrestling contest, then do it to embarass yourself in public and win a meaningless prize)

**** No, not really, I was just hoping if I write all that crap down, the worries will get out of my head and I'll be able to write again.