(Argh.)
Yes, it's time for the writing-whining. Which I've resisted, but at the moment I'm feeling weak, and feeling annoyed by it. I've had thoughts! They've been worthwhile! Some of them, at least! But they seem to go flat even before I type them. Ideas seemed unformed, not wanting to get into even coherent enough shape for a blog post. Which means I'm sabotaging myself, writing-wise. No, I've said that before... no, that's been said much better... no, I'd clearly be talking out my ass about THAT... And I haven't been whipping thoughts into shape, like I did when I was on a newspaper and had, you know, DEADLINES. No deadlines here. No limits, either, really. I could write about junior high, which I was in from 1986 to 1988, if I wanted to. I could write poems. I could put myself in the mind of a squirrel (hi,
elionwyr) and write a squirrel epic. I could write something like this. Clearly I can do it. I'm just not.I've thought-blocked myself.
This sucks.
Examples of where my mind's gone in directions that haven't yielded worthwhile blog posts: I've been hearing that Bastille song, "Pompeii," a realy catchy and near-epic dance song about, of all things, someone about to die when Mt. Vesuvious erupts. And then my mind went to that Doctor Who episode where the Doctor is in Pompeii the day of the eruption, and uses his time-and-space-traveling machine the T.A.R.D.I.S. to rescue a family from the city. Part of me thinks that that episode and that song could almost fit together, whether by the repeated line
I'm gonna be an optimist about this
or changing that line to
I'm gonna hope the Doctor comes to save my ass
...but sustaining that over a whole song? I couldn't do it. And if it even managed to become a joke, it'd be the epitome of what Mystery Science Theatre 3000 called "a 1% joke."
So that's not even a full blog post on its own.
My mind also won't let go of doing something with the MS MR -- that's pronounced "Miss Mister" -- song "Hurricane," partly because my mind won't let go of that song...but I want to rewrite its chorus from
So dark and foul I can't disguise, I can't disguise
to
So dark and foul it really blows, it really blows...
...no. How about
...NO.
Writing is HARD.
(And I know lots of y'all are now playing the world's smallest violins. That takes talent. Thanks for being good at that. And at writing. I'll be better. I've BEEN better.)