I’ve been stuck for a while. And by ‘stuck’ I mean the words won’t come. Inspiration has flown the coop. Whether the lingering pandemic, political ennui or simply running out of gas, this turned into my terrible, horrible, no good, very bad summer for writing. A brief recap:
May. No need to panic just yet. It’s only been a month since I posted something on my blog. I’ve had worse dry spells in the past. I’m sure my twelve loyal readers will hang in there. Besides, I have plants to maim and kill.
June. According to the ‘stupid holiday’ website, where I go for ideas in times of trouble, this is National Bathroom Reading Month.
Another check of the headlines shows that little has changed since I checked fifteen minutes ago. Social media is next…there should be plenty of shiny objects on facebook with which to distract myself.
July. Afghanistan is a shitshow as we clear out in the wake of The Great Negotiator’s secret deal to hand the country back over to the Taliban – two trillion dollars well-spent on training the Afghan military, which is in the process of folding like a house of cards. And they’re still pulling bodies out of the rubble of that collapsed condo in Florida. Hilarious stuff.
August. So I’m back to staring at a blank page in my word processing program, waiting for inspiration to fill in all that whiteness. Meanwhile the cursor blinks at me impatiently, mockingly. I had to remove the clock from the bathroom because, from my desk here in the bedroom I could hear its incessant ticking, reminding me that I was accomplishing nothing while my death was drawing ever closer, implacable and non-negotiable, one second at a time.
We went camping with friends from back in Michigan this month. I thought a change of scenery might do me good. One night we were all sitting around the fire, stargazing. Nothing like the vastness of the cosmos to make that knee-slapper I planned to write about my travails with excessive earwax seem a tad picayune.
September. This is serious – I just googled “ways to overcome writer’s block.” And now I’m sorry I did. Suggestions range from ‘go for a walk’ to ‘brew some coffee.’ And my favorite, ‘just write.’ What the hell do you think I’ve been doing for the last five months?!?
I almost ran over another goose today. They congregate here like the Harley crowd to Sturgis, thanks to some guy who introduced them to the area back in the fifties. Maybe that would make a good story, something about all these geese…like they’re illegal aliens (from Canada, get it?) and why isn’t the government doing more to stop them.
Two paragraphs is all I could muster on that one before I decided it had roughly the equivalent comedic value of an ingrown hair.
There will always be the anti-vaxxers and covid deniers – surely I can find some humor there. Low-hanging fruit, I suppose, but at this point I just want to get something down on paper.
So New Hampshire’s motto is Live Free or Die. Maybe something like Live Free and Die. Or how horse dewormer or a rectally-inserted ultraviolet light is so much more sensible than a simple shot in the arm.
Come to think of it, how funny is 700,000 dead people? Okay, moving on…
My wife recently lost 80 pounds on the Keto diet. The problem here is that I have a metabolism that burns like the core of a nuclear reactor – losing weight has never been on my radar. We are a house divided. So maybe a survival guide for those caught in the Keto wasteland.
Maybe not. Have you ever gone back and read your work and realized that you’ve apparently been channeling the spirit of Jeff Spicoli for an undetermined length of time?
Not quite the muse I was hoping for.
Let’s try this again. It was a dark and stormy night…