Writer’s Block


So. It’s been awhile.  I wish could say I was busy, but that’s a lousy excuse for anything.  It gives undeserved weight to the others things that you were doing.  Was drinking and getting a cat to chase a string really more important that writing? Well, define important. No.  But it sounds more impressive to say that you were busy.  You can’t just come out and say I felt like getting drunk, or watching TV, or I was too tired from work, because everyone assumes you were doing all of that already.  Really, you just need to clarify that you’ve been busy and you can get away with anything. Not seeing that friend in three years, or picking up that book, or learning that 2nd language.  Ah man, I wish I could, I’m just so busy.  As if people would take that phrase and imagine you designing a house or working on a cure for Parkinson’s or something.

We’re all always busy.  Except me.  I’m not using that excuse today.  I just had no idea what to write about.  There’s only so many holidays to cover.  I was going to tackle Memorial Day, but what the hell am I going to say? Plus, I was busy.  But writing….it’s been a struggle.  I wouldn’t exactly call it Writer’s Block because I think you need to be a real Writer to qualify for that.  It’s like unemployment, if you’ve never had a job they don’t let you just start collecting.  Still, it’s hard to keep working at writing when you feel like you don’t have much to say.  Maybe my life is just too boring?

I did come home one night a little drunk, a little depressed, and I wrote one whole paragraph. Surprisingly, when reading it the next morning it wasn’t too bad. But man, it was depressing. Sadness is where a lot of good ideas come from, but everyone has their limit, even me.  The little sad moments, or the awkward ones, or the ones that past piss you off really way more than they should, that’s my wheelhouse.  Unfortunately, I made the mistake of seeing too many people lately.  I won’t use it as an excuse to be too busy, but I’m certainly using it as an excuse to have nothing else to say.  Because…I’m never not ranting. When too many people cut in front of me at a concert I ranted to friends and strangers alike about concert etiquette. When a family member at a party recently went on and on about their stupid dog being their child, I let anyone within earshot know how much of an asshole I thought they were.  And let’s be honest, they are.  When you’re buying each other Mother’s and Father’s Day gifts because you’re a dog owner, go fuck yourself.

Anyway, you get it out of your system, and then you have nothing else you feel like writing.  I started writing again because I felt like I had too many thoughts and no one to listen to them. So I decided to create DayOldDoughnuts where I could write down these thoughts and no one would read them instead, a drastic improvement.  But I don’t want to stop writing because I’m sharing too many thoughts with live people.  I also can’t stop going out into the real world. How the hell can you do observational writing if you don’t go out and experience anything? It doesn’t even have to be an exciting experience by nature, just normal things.  You go on the green line and maybe you have a great story about a homeless man that may or may not be Larry David’s stunt double, because why wouldn’t he need one?  Or you go to a bar to remind yourself that you’re way too old to be at that bar because there’s 100 people dancing and you’re 100% having more fun playing PhotoHunt.  Whether you or the people you witness need to re-assess their lives doesn’t matter, but the clash between how different people see the world is essential.

That’s why I never understood people going into seclusion to get writing done.  I’m much more likely to go all Jack Torrance than Henry David Thoreau.  If I had to write 500 pages about Walden Fucking Pond, I’d rather freeze to death in the topiary.  I’ve been to Walden pond, it sucks.  Done, there are my observations.  Someone once made me drive to his house.  They came all the way from Australia, and that’s what they wanted to see, Thoreau’s shack in the woods.  I’ll save you some time, that was worthless too.  I know, I sound like an asshole, an uneducated fool, but I’m just not that interested in nature.  Conserve it all you want, I don’t disagree, I just don’t need to experience it too often.  And while we’re on it, enough with the hiking bullshit.  It’s just walking in the woods.  Would you like to go to Vermont for a week and hit the trails?  Sure.  Day one, we walked in the woods.  Day two, what are we going to do today? Walk through the woods, but this trail is slightly different.  Day three?  Woods.  Is this getting any more fun for you guys?

God.  Save the trees, by all means, but uh, save the trees for yourself, nobody wants to hear about it.  I want to hear about people.  I want to write about people.  They all suck, but they’re amazing.  But I’m out of ideas about the interesting bastards that we all are, so what do I write about now?  I’ve heard a good exercise is to write about something completely random and just see where it goes.  So we’re going to do an experiment here, I’m going to be completely honest, write whatever comes to mind about one thing, no rehearsal, no editing.  The word is Apple, go: Apples are red. Sometimes. I know a lot girls that like green. Also the candy green apple, which I don’t think tastes at all like the fruit. Like Watermelon. What the fuck is watermelon candy about? It tastes great but probably gives you cancer. Anyone know any good cancer jokes? Wow, I wish that isn’t what I thought about next.  I need to stop writing, this is dangerous, I hate this commercial. Who has the TV on while they’re writing? I’ll never amount to anything, but at least I don’t have wires connected to me like this bitch in this overplayed commercial.

Okaaay.  Great to be back.  I’ll try people again next time.


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