Type Until You Write!
No words … Nothing!
I don’t know why I can’t write. I’ve got a head full of ideas. They trample each other on their way to the processing center of my brain. Few make it there alive. Some are captured and locked away in the file dungeon on my desktop.
“How ‘bout a post about . . . Yeah, that could work,” I mutter to Microsoft Word.
He dismisses me and hits the delete key.
“That’s great,” is what he types then adds “sarcastically” in all caps.
“Great for my ego. Thanks!”
Then Microsoft Word crashes before I save half the sentence that trails off into empty spaces on the page.
Maybe I shouldn’t revive the draft. It’s more dead than it is alive, attached to the faux paper screen that stands vertically, rather than horizontally – the correct position for a piece of paper.
I click on the Google Chrome icon on my computer, instead, and get lost in a virtual html storm. One site and then another gets stuffed into history along with cookies and spam. Snacks for the weary cyberspace traveler, bleary eyed in an awake REM daydream.
Flitting around in an intangible world that floats above earth like a balloon caught in a jet stream tantrum, courtesy of El Nino and La Nina, Mother Nature’s bratty kids.
For Christ sake, discipline them! Don’t scream “Shut up!” at them in a thunderous clap, then enable their bad behavior by rewarding them with a whirly ride in a hurricane.
Give them a time out. Stick them in a corner of California. The west coast is dry and lacks an invigorating tropical punch.
Denying them treats will temper their bad weather pattern that produces stormy outbursts consistent with the terrible two ninos.
Otherwise, a desktop, weather drama queen will popup from your taskbar and scream, “Hurricane alert! Shut down your computer and hide under your desk. Don’t worry about that half-assed draft lying in a coma. The words sound like gibberish anyway, but in fact may be Yiddish, because your words “are goat droppings” or as my people say, “bupkes.”
What’s your cure for writer’s block?