Writer's Block--Need a Laxative!
I really looked at the books
on my headboard bookcase
by my bed this morning,
and my eyes fell upon a small book
entitled A Writer's Workshop.
Hmmmm......a tiny sign for the day?
The foreword of the book contained the following quote, by Honore de Balzac. The Workshop writer slyly mentioned Balzac had still "managed to churn out some ninety novels in his lifetime." (And without a computer or delete key or SpellCheck!)
"...And the writer is a looker-on
at his talent's suicide..." (Balzac)
Most days I have a small goal to write, usually in this blog,
to keep from being "blocked up" by unwritten words.
I once earned a bit (a small bit) of money with freelance writing, but I didn't stay with it...just not a "sure thing", so I lost impetus. If I was blocked up on those many non-writing days, I usually ignored the bloated sensation.
But my state of retirement presents me with the dubious gift of unscheduled time...my trusty laptop beckons. Even as I find it difficult to walk around with arthritis tugging tiresomely at my back, I certainly find sitting still comfortable. So writing is physically fetching.....just mentally annoying.
If you don't write anything,
then you don't write badly....
or stupidly.
And yet I cannot ignore the sweet feeling
of having written.
I have been guided--and goaded--
by feelings and intuition all my life.
(Sometimes even a good thing.)
And so, dear little blog,
you are my conduit for words,
for some attempts at verbal expression.....
small little steps....
blop
blop....
blop
blop....
Sweet Relief !
(Did this entire crappy metaphor
really start with"Writers Block"?)
Aren't you glad we have reached "the end"?
(snicker)
