I wanted to write.
I had half a post done, a continuation of an existing story.
I needed to add some pictures, finish my thoughts, bring about some sort of conclusion…
I opened my draft, and stared…
It wasn’t coming…
I was stuck…
This happens from time to time.
Perhaps too often.
Stories half told.
Waiting for… something.
So I stare,
Then I get frustrated,
Then ‘screw this’ and go off to other things,
Not writing a word.
I goes circular like this for a while.
I keep coming back, getting frustrated, and giving up,
Only to find myself scrolling through an endless facebook news feed, or on some random internet tangent that take me to endless amounts of trivial information about obscure topics.
It’s not all bad,
I keep abreast of what happening in friend’s lives, and I never know when these ‘trivial’ subjects will come up in conversation (it has the curious effect of making me look learned… or like I have too much time on my hands).
But it doesn’t get me where I want to be.
It doesn’t get a novel written,
and invariably an unwritten novel will never be published (at least I don’t think it will).
It gets me nowhere fast… or slow.
I’ve got to do something about this…
Perhaps some unprompted writing…
About not being able to write…
Hmm… that’s crazy enough that it just might work.
Let’s give it a shot.
It shouldn’t be hard to write,
I mean I’ve got lots to say.
Maybe too much.
Maybe I’m self-censoring in the fear of disinterested readers, or Bill C-51.
Maybe it’s too early in the morning and I need a second cup of coffee (and perhaps a third).
Maybe I just need to clear my mind, take a few minutes to meditate, calm myself (the coffee isn’t helping).
Maybe I just have to write about whatever the hell I want to write about, right now.
I can come back to those stories later… they’re not going anywhere… are they?
Maybe I just need to keep tapping keys until something useful, interesting, or profound comes out…
dhidkldjj dod dlid di dliruoe mcnmcmm ytu blah blah blah….
Maybe I need to get the catharsis flowing, type out a string of expletives until I’m spent…
ASS BALLS FUCK SHIT COCK BITCH CUNT FUCK FUCK
(sounds like the words to my forthcoming death-metal album)
Or maybe I just gotta take it easy, not try so hard, it’ll come when it comes.
Or maybe I just push myself, dig my spurs into my writing horse’s sides and say ‘Hi ho silver and away!’
Force a galloping pace, a breakneck speed, and ride on towards the horizon.
Or maybe I just gotta write about writing (or lack thereof). Get out the frustrations and the roadblocks. Spill it all out until the only thing left is the quality goods that lie beneath the surface. That nugget of gold.
dig out the mine,
only to find,
that nothing lies beneath
dredge up the mind,
only to find,
that I’m an empty sheath
an empty vessel
a sunken ship
I’m taking on water,
and nothing’s coming out
I’m lying on an ocean floor,
no sound upon my sodden ears
no one to notice salty tears
no one to listen to hidden fears
I’m drowning in ideas
yet don’t know how to swim
I’m leaden with the gold of inspiration
yet my hull is too small
my keel to brittle
I’ve got to throw it overboard
it’s just too much
my greedy eyes
my tiny stomach
I can’t digest this meal
my silent cries
for the demise
of unwritten ideas
I’ll keep the pace
won’t win the race
but I’ll keep an even keel
on step forward
two more back
keeping things on track
I’ll make it someday
maybe not today
nor on the morrow
I’ll make it.
I guess that’s just the way she goes…