Writer's Blues

Breakin the habit.  Yeah, you know it.  That habit that comes n bites you in the butt and won’t let go.  Procrastination; and that too all with caps lock turned on.   Cozy comfort.  Cling to the status quo and don’t let go.  You’ve heard all the talks at the pep rallies, come away with your can of enthu fizz, corked and ready to have you bright and jumpin through hoops.  

 

But…it don’t work that way.  It fuckin’ don’t.  What gives baby blue?

 

What gives gives.  What stays stays.

 

Smart alecky answers won’t do the trick though.  You can trade in the comic relief and pick up some good ole fashioned Yoda shots right here at the Jedi store of yesterday and tomorrow.   Not makin sense?  Don’t worry.  That’s the intent.  So just ride easy on this sprawl of text and connect if you will or else just skate away.

 

This is what is known as – in writing parlance – ‘the warm up’.  What you do before you get down to that bit of unworkable piece of text that sits like a lemon in your hand.  The clay which refuses to mould.  Either too much water or too hard clay.  All bumpety-stickety, ungainly, lumbering gross piece of trash that sits there looking at you and screamin: YOU CALL YOURSELF A WRITER!!

 

Double exclamation points of disgust.  LOOK AT ME.  Do I look beautiful?  Do I drag in the reader?  Give that John Grisham shot of addiction?  Spin that Stephen King wizardry?  Hide the complexity in deceptive simplicity like Harper Lee/Hemingway/Steinbeck? …snort…Do you do that to me?  DO YOU?  Make them ache and weep and laugh and cry and want more more more?  YOU TALENTLESS TWERP….

 

Okay, okay, okay! Quit the hell raising.  I get it. 

 

DO YOU REALLY?  The text sneers, IT’s BETTER IF YOU QUIT.  CATCH THE BUS BACK TO A 9 TO 5.  THEY’LL WELCOME YOU WITH OPEN ARMS.  YOU CAN GIVE THEM SOME COCK ‘N BULL.  SOME STORY ABOUT HOW THE WRITER’S LIFE IS YOUR HOBBY AND YOU WERE ON A SABATTICAL.  YOU CAN DAZZLE THE CORPIE CIRCUIT WITH YOUR THIRD RATE HACKS FROM GREAT WRITERS.  CLIMB THE LADDER, SHORE UP THE BANK ACCOUNT, HOLIDAY IN THE BAHAMAS…QUIT NOW!

 

Like hell.  Like if hell freezes over.  Then maybe, just maybe, I’ll think of considering that.  Till then you, yeah you, you grungy piece of text.  You will just have to learn to live with me.  Ungainly, disharmonized, punk metal junk, warts n all.