I fucking HATE writer’s block
It happened again last night. As I was getting comfortable and wanting to drift off to sleep, my brain steadfastly refused to shut up. Ideas rolled through my head like a West Texas thunderstorm dumping water onto the garden of creativity. The flowers that bloomed formed into yet another story that refuses to leave my fucking head!
Characters, plot, subplots, complications – everything was all there. This was it – the impetus to write something good, and who knows, maybe get published. I jumped out of bed and grabbed my notepad and pen to write these ideas down so I could utilize them later. And, as always, as soon as fingers touched pen, poof, the ideas were gone. Every last fucking one of them.
Frustrated, I went back to bed and tried once more to go to sleep. Once again, the ol’ brain fired up into overdrive, and the story began to write itself again, this time in even more detail. Words, images, and wondrous metaphors ran unchecked through my hyperactive mind. Once again, as I reached over to grab notepad and pen the story vanished so completely that I might as well have jumped into the River Styx.
This went on all through the night. So here I am today – tired, frustrated, cranky, and completely unable to get any of these stories out of my head and on to paper.
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