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Don’t Fear The Reaper

by on July 8, 2012

Well, the season’s don’t, according to the song. All this blasted rain makes me doubt it though.  If I was summer at the moment, I’d be hiding in a corner…  Memo to self: time you learnt that riff.  Second memo to self: Now that you can nearly fail to play it, how are you going to do something useful, and write it?  Hum.  I’ve turned some jazz on on the stereo, taken my teenage daughter to her Sunday job, stripped the walls of my home office / writing den ready for some fresh wall paper.  Coffee is made, and suddenly the words won’t flow.

I used to think of this occasional blog as me just musing to a few mates, but suddenly I’ve found the stats button and discovered that either I’m  more popular than I thought (In which case, what happened to the birthday pressies guys?) or more of you are interested in my writing experiences than I thought was possible.  Probably a lot of you write too, in which case you are very familiar with the problem I’m facing right now.  I call it “Blank Screen Blues”, and even wrote some flash about it once.  For the non writers, that didn’t mean I ran around naked, scaring the neighbours’ silly, but wrote a short story of under 1000 words.

Of course, I know really why neither of these books are flowing at the moment.  My 17 year long relationship has ended, leaving me as main carer for my 16 year old daughter, and the transition is just a bit raw at the moment.  And as fateful wotsit and my luck runs, right at the moment I’m in the middle of writing two books about relationships. Even though I’m a bloke.  Peverse, isn’t it?  I start to get in touch with my real feelings, and turn on the WP only to find I don’t seem to have any worth articulating.  Oh well, back to the old favourite for writers, and just invent something I suppose.  At least i don’t need to write all these tortured feelings.  I’m just reminded, by listening to Amy Winehouse, that others can do that better than me and I can stick to what I’m best at – recycling cheesy jokes.

 

And now, thank you – you have, by reading this, encouraged this season to turn a little.  Becuase i’ve just written this  A meandering rubbish, I’ve got over my odd block.  The wind has risen, the curtains blown wide, and the words have started to appear.  Well done.  And, that means that I’ve got someone else to blame this time.  Perfect. And further evidence for what I’ve always believed, that the only way out of writers block is to write, write, write.

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3 Comments
  1. “that the only way out of writers block is to write, write, write.”

    Which is almost word for word the exact advice Terry Pratchett gives.

    I agree, and if it gets really bad, using a pen and pad helps too. Or write something else.

    Cheers

    MTM

  2. kimatsafkhet permalink

    hang in there, Will! You will do splendidly and we are here for you – if there’s anything we can do, please let us know! Seriously!

  3. Very very true…except when I get writers block, I can’t STOP writing, short stories become novellas which become novels and grand tomes! Oh dear! Creative diarrhoea?

    But you know kiddo, you’ve got lots of mates. Kim’s right, we’re all here for you. 😉

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