I can’t fucking write today.
I am on Document 16. SIX-TEEEEEEEEEEEN.
Every time I think I’ve got something, I delete it for fear that somebody somewhere will READ IT. Because nothing is any good. It is all, simply, fucked.
Bees? Nobody gives a fuck about bees! Why’d I even read all that stuff about bees in the first place? That was fuckin dumb.
How about some emotional trauma? Existential pain that my goth soul needs to purge like a bad sandwich? Nope. I’m all out of goth soul and Hot Topic burned down.
I can’t even count on my anger. I don’t want to punch anyone! Or trip them or snap their necks and rattle their bodies like limp birds. I am as boring as CNN or tea cups. I am as boring as Christmas evening.
I just shut down Word. It seems wrong to keep killing documents.
It’s nice that you have multiple souls to count on, but too bad your goth soul is not doing it for you when you need it. I think I’d like a shopping soul, if that be a thing. Shopping makes me tired and grumpy, but I think if I had a shopping soul, I could really get into it.
I very much have multiple souls. It’s the only way I could’ve been soul mates with all those celebrities when I was 12.
But I don’t have a shopping soul either. I used to like certain types of shopping before I got sick, but now I just get too tired and it reminds me that it didn’t used to make me tired.
And my feet are weird. It’s as bad as bathing suits.
writing about nothing is better than writing about glitter vampires or Russia. So, I’m happy.
Hey, glitter vamps make bank. And they glitter.
There is a defined genre of writing about writing (with writer’s block being the majority topic produced) yet many journals on writing will not take creative writing on the subject of writer’s block. “Overdone,” one said.
That’s like not accepting stories involving love.
I’ve had some luck lately with a block of short stories about writers writing things, rewriting things, submitting and getting rejected … Which makes me think the tide is turning with editors. It can be done.