The Crap I Write During Writer’s Block

Urghhhhhhhh. Arrrrfffffffgggggggggggggggeckkkkkkkkk!

That’s the pained sensation of my body put into words. No, no, it’s not (just) constipation. I’m sitting at a communal table at Starbucks, trying to comb my inner space to see if there’s anything worth writing today. Now, I’m outside.

Now, I’m inside again at a new table. Now, I’m outside again. I don’t avoid the concerned glances of the baristas. What are my options, though? I can take a walk and come back to the writing. Yes, that sounds like a splendid idea.

But I’ve had much of the day off, already. Must I have the perfect conditions to write? That sounds rather unrealistic.

How can I call myself a writer if I’m not writing??! I had ample sleep last night. I’ve even meditated (though I haven’t exercised yet today). Are the Gods punishing me?

Where are you, O’ writing muse?

I want to entertain you with my humor and touch your soul with my words (Flashback, Gladiator: Are you not entertained?!).

Will I publish this garbage, I ask myself? There is nothing but crap here, but I might, if only to show you the inner critic and  accompanying daemons hard at work. I moved down to Florida, amongst other things, to focus on my writing.

They say, sit down and write. Make it a daily habit. This is just cruel!

I try to read instead, but can’t focus. Perhaps, that iced double-shot almond milk latte I made myself this morning wasn’t a grand idea–followed-up by the chai latte with soy at Starbucks an hour or so ago.

Wait, it’s starting to rain! Rain makes for a wonderful writing setting. Setting is so important. Everything needs to be just right to write.

Now, it’s a full-blown thunderstorm, and the wind is blowing the rain under the foyer and onto my screen. In defiance, I use my carrying case to shield my laptop–holding my ground.

HOLD THE DOOR!

HOLD THE DOOR!

HOLD THE DOOR!

Bullocks. I’m not going inside again!

 

 

Alex Obed: 1.

Inner Daemons: 1,000,000.

Hey… it’s a start.