Writer’s Block

I don’t know what’s so intimidating about a blinking cursor.  It’s just a little black vertical line that flashes—*on*off*on*off.*  It’s nothing to be scared of.  It’s nothing nasty or unpleasant.  It’s just *on*off*on*off* over and over.  Some days I don’t even know it’s there.

So why, on other days, does it look like a snake ready to strike?  Why, when my mind is whirring with ideas, does the sight of that little black cursor flashing shut it off faster than a mother changing the channel when an R-rated film is on?  What is it about that silly little black line that makes me want to do anything other than write?


This writer’s block thing is for the birds.

You can’t get a sense of how long it is between paragraphs right now.  Or how much time I’m spending writing and deleting, writing and deleting.  The answer to both is: a lot.  And let’s not get into the time I’m spending second guessing myself, wondering if this is worth the effort, trying to figure out if this stream of consciousness blog is even a good idea, attempting to gauge exactly how desperate I am for material, etcetera, etcetera.  I’m having to drag each word out of me.  It’s like pulling teeth, or maybe getting the truth out of a politician.

Strike that.  Truth from a politician would be harder.

Sticking to the topic is the worst.  Ask anyone who knows me in real life—what comes out of my mouth is generally a series of non sequiturs.  This is because I don’t make the effort to activate the “fine sieve” setting on my brain-mouth filter all that often.

See, there I go again.  I’m supposed to be sticking to writer’s block.

But, the irony is, I look at those two little words and come up with one big blank.

*Pounds head on the desk in frustration.*


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