Writer’s block: it’s not about writing…

Picture me with nothing to say.  Damn, that’s not possible, most of my friends would say.  Okay, ALL of my friends would say that. 

Maybe my husband wouldn’t agree, but then he can’t understand how it is I can go to a coffee shop with my best friend for 3 hours and just talk.

What do you talk about?  Didn’t you just talk last night for an hour?

So?

Yeah, so?  What do you have to talk about after already talking for an hour?

All kinds of sh*t.  You know, stuff.  <He raises an eyebrow, quizzically> Like how bad her workplace is for a person of democratic bent, abortion rights, synchronicity and quantum physics, her last trip to Europe, our next girls-only trip, her last business trip, my job hunting prospects…

<His eyes have glazed over>

Well, writing is typically like that for me.  All kinds of sh*t stuck in my head, waiting for release, pouring out of the ends of my fingertips at any given moment.  I’ve always been able to write at the drop of a hat; I can write documentation for operational processes and software, hardware maintenance, draft a contract or a speech, slap together a book report or a product review, you name it, I can write it cold.

But for some reason absolutely nothing strikes me as needing to be written today.  I've got nothing to talk about.  Nothing needs to be said. 

And I don’t even know if my friend called what I’d say to her.  I feel all empty and drained, not a damn thing to say.

But I suppose if it was my best friend calling, we’d still talk about something, anything, everything, anyhow.  When I’m low on stuff, she’s got plenty, reminding me there’s always stuff needing to be said, needing to be written.

And I’ve somehow managed to post four times today, in spite of little or nothing at all to say.

This too, will pass.  Perhaps it already has.

4:06:55 PM    comment []

Writer’s block:  The Writer’s Block Bloggin’ Blues...

I’ve been bloggin such a long time, sorry things had to come this way;

I’ve been bloggin such a long time, sorry things had to come this way;

I remember how easy it used to be, baby,

How easy it was day after day.

Words flowed like water, always came when they were poured;

Words flowed like water, always came when they were poured;

Now I’m left here high and dry, baby,

Bloggins’ done walked out the door.

Why did my bloggin’ leave me, I didn’t think it’d ever leave;

Why did my bloggin’ leave me, I didn’t think it’d ever leave;

Nothing seems to work now,

Oh tell me why, won’t you please!

Bloggins’ left me, baby, makin' me cry and cry;

Bloggins’ left me, baby, makin' me cry and cry;

Nothing left to do but maybe,

Keep on a writin’, tryin', try and try.

2:41:48 PM    comment []

Writer’s block, redux…

I’m officially in an overreaction spiral, trying to lick ma bête noir.  So far, I’ve tried these without luck:

-- Additional coffee this morning to stimulate laggard brain cells;

            Result: jitters and overly sensitive temper.

-- Herbal tea this afternoon to calm the jitters and nerves;

            Result: more trips to the toilet.

-- More starches at lunch in an effort to replace calories lost over the weekend;

            Result: pending – any time now my hips and buttocks will swell in proportion to two big slices of foccacia bread (picturing that NutriGrain cereal bar TV advertisement: I’m the one with the foccacia *ss).

-- Chocolate (which as we all know has certain beneficially calming effects for many women), in the form of one scoop French Silk ice cream after lunch;

            Result: ice cream f*ckin’ brain freeze headache.

-- Ibuprofen, to relieve brain freeze and tension-induced headache;

            Result: pending…I’ll let you know in another hour after the f*ckin' pounding stops.

-- Writing about block/ badly/ crap to get over the hump;

            Result: let me know, you’re reading it!

What could be next???

2:16:51 PM    comment []

It’s here, finally…writer’s block…

Agh, my brain is fried.

I think it started as a complication due to suffering from the Norwalk virus all weekend. 

Pile on the emotional discharge post-Columbia.

Add two rambunctious kids suffering from cabin-fever and an overworked spouse getting ready to go out of town.

Combine well with overexposure to DVD’s.  (Hubby selected Mr. & Mrs. Brad Pitt this weekend with The Mexican and The Good Girl; The Good Girl was, The Mexican wasn’t.  Oh yeah, 101 Dalmations: Patch’s Adventure or some such Disney debacle with an excess of dogs barking in the background.)

Stew over 48 hours of bed rest.

Presto, writer’s block.

Now, how the hell do I get rid of it?

11:59:33 AM    comment []

Don't you wish you could have been there?

Said Hunter S. Thompson at a rally in Aspen CO this weekend, near the 2003 Winter X-Games:

``You can beat City Hall...I've been to a few of these things. I've become almost homesick for the smell of tear gas.'' (AP)

This must have been a blast, with Thompson in attendance.  Nuts, I never get to the fun events anymore.

Update -- 12:40 pm ET --

Wow, that's serendipitous.  I wrote the above at 9:00 am ET, before reading either Salon or checking with Emphasis Added this morning.  Salon's got a great interview with Thompson and Rob's cited it as well.  GMTA, maybe?  Or did my one remaining brain cell get lucky?!

11:46:55 AM    comment []