Writer's Block

I have absolutely nothing to type. I just stared at the keyboard for about ten minutes then turned on the telly. Watched the remainder of a crappy movie for about twenty minutes then back to the monitor while the telly buzzed of ads and whatnot...

I just have absolutely nothing to write about. Ironic since I said in a previous post that this blog would serve as a mental exercise. I guess I am out of shape. The day was uneventful, actually, except for random machine-generated text messages I was compelled to forward around. Machine-generated. Heh... Anyways, I was thinking first of typing a few dozen of words about something relevant, started thinking my first sentences, realized that I do not know how to end the whole thing, let alone what goes next.

The creative process starts out big. An idea so profound that a writer cannot wait to get it down on pen and paper... sometimes on toilet paper for lack of material (however, I do make it a habit to carry a pen around, just in case). Then the idea sorts of twists itself into incoherence or something that a writer will eventually realize, "Aw, this is crap." The creative process then starts to dwindle, and saunter ever vaguely downwards. The wasted stage of it is when the writer puts down the pen and does something else. More likely to pull himself away from the crappy work rather than get the ideas together again. And eventually, he gets an idea again - however so rarely.

A lot of writers do not know how or where their story will go next. Will the hero do something really stupid? Will the toaster explode? Will the goldfish turn out to be ancient gods in disguise and finally wreak havoc on an unsuspecting populace? Things like that, really. Then your stuck. Like I am now.

Thirty minutes have passed since the last paragraph, and I just packed my bags. Make that an additional ten minutes since I remembered I forgot to pack some cigarettes since that last bit about the bags. And I am back, munching on some leftover rice cakes and chocolate pudding. Thinking of something to write about gives me the munchies. Right now I'm finishing off the last of leftover pasta I salvaged from the fridge, washing it down with more leftover iced tea from supper earlier this night.

Eversince the necropolis was discovered, I found an interesting storyline. One I thought would rival Tolkien, Gaiman, and even my favorite Dragonlance Books. It is actually silly and even, well, for lack of better words... amateur. But it is MY story! Sadly, I could never get past several pages, and when I get lost, the story re-writes itself and never gets finished. By the way, that last paragraph was thought about after downing a glass of home-brewed tea. I felt the pasta might be hard to digest. So... Mmm... another five or six minutes past since.

Now school-wide politics goes through my head after reading several posts on facebook. Damned social networking sites. They do things to you. Like cast doubts. Bugger. Hmmm... sounds like a good plot turn in my story.

After that last bit, I went over my notes (guess I turned out to be the boyscout they said I was), and placed a reminder where to insert that thing about doubt and among other things, confusion and other matters that just happen to pop up at the wrong time.

SO I guess I had something to write after all. Funny, how this ends relatively well enough that a contented feeling came over me. Or was it the pasta? Now it has been another twenty or so minutes since that last sentence. Juts infer what happened from that short period of time that lapsed. No, your potty-headed minds cannot comprehend it. Something to do with pasta, and the last bit. There... I gave a clue.

Back to the mausoleum it is then. Ciao.