It doesn't matter how long it's been.
I realize my absence is unrealized to all except maybe one person, but it doesn't matter...
I haven't been writing. I haven't been doing anything. So it seems pointless to fill cybersapce with the nothing I've been living.
Oh I've had thoughts. Opinions. Ridiculous amounts of questions for the world around me that really can't be answered but probably need to be posed at least... Only thing is, I don't feel like I'm important enough to have them come from me. Or that I care enough to look for the answers...
... That's not it. I just don't feel like I'm clever enough, observant enough to ponder the questions with any sort of intelligence whatsoever.
What we have here, my friends, is a case of writer's block. Only it's worse than normal. This is no absence of inspiration, no abandonment by the ancient muses. I have sat down to write a thousand times and have only a hundred unfinished sentences to show for myself.
This writer's block is impossible to get over.
This block has a name.
Adam.
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3 comments:
I read your stuff, and I like it.
Damn you Adam.
Keep writing.
Thank you.
And I'll try.
Damn you, Adam.
I've wanted to ask about your writing. After the uncomfortable conversation we had regarding your articles and their direction (etc) I decided I wasn't gonna bug you. You know what's best for you... Now I feel like I should be bugging you.
You frustrate me...
And I love you for it.
Did you send him back the text about stepping-up and being a man?
If not, I'm disappointed.
If so, I want details.
~Your other half...
(Hey, sorry I didn't respond to your message the other day. I'm fine. Thank you. Kiddo and I made up.)
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