So. I've been hearing from some of you; "Hey, how's that novel of yours coming along?"
"Is it done yet?"
"Is it done yet?"
"Is it done yet?"
NO. It is not. I seem to have a bad case of Imagination Constipation. That is, I have writer's block. I must. I sit at the computer everyday for about an hour and stare hopelessly at that goddamned blinking cursor wishing something would happen.
Monkeys flying out of my butt.
Spontaneous combustion.
Anything.
But nothing does so, I just read over what I have written.
Again and again and again and again and again and again and again again and again and again again and again and again again and again and again again and again and again again and again and again again and again and again again and again and again again and again and again again and again and again again and again and again again and again and again again and again and again again and again and again again and again and again again and again and again again and again and again again and again and again again and again and again again and again and again again and again and again again and again and again again and again and again again and again and again again and again and again again and again and again again and again and again again and again and again and again...
"Is it done yet?"
"Is it done yet?"
"Is it done yet?"
NO. It is not. I seem to have a bad case of Imagination Constipation. That is, I have writer's block. I must. I sit at the computer everyday for about an hour and stare hopelessly at that goddamned blinking cursor wishing something would happen.
Monkeys flying out of my butt.
Spontaneous combustion.
Anything.
But nothing does so, I just read over what I have written.
Again and again and again and again and again and again and again again and again and again again and again and again again and again and again again and again and again again and again and again again and again and again again and again and again again and again and again again and again and again again and again and again again and again and again again and again and again again and again and again again and again and again again and again and again again and again and again again and again and again again and again and again again and again and again again and again and again again and again and again again and again and again again and again and again again and again and again again and again and again again and again and again again and again and again and again...
3 comments:
ahhh...I think many of us know this feeling all too well. I'm sure the monkeys will be flying soon enough:)
jesus. don't we all feel like this most of the time? i know i'm no stranger to the tug and pull and self-pressure of "gotta write, got nothing to write, gotta write, don't wanna write." you'll be okay. relax. take a vicodin. i'll send you one.
because yes, i am on crutches. and i feel like a pussy because all i did was break my toe (on my bookcase, sober no less). it was bent funny and turned some truly lovely colors, and ed and my mom finally convinced me to go to the ER. the good news is the doctor told me not to go back to work until friday.
i haven't decided yet about the naked writer blog. i may keep it up. i may not. i'll let you know when i figure it out. the problem is that i don't feel incredibly comfortable putting up my fiction...so, god, i dont' know. sorry, this is the vicodin talking.
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