hack writer
I’m having major writer’s block right now. I have three or four notepad text files full of crap that I was trying to write in the last 24 hours, and none of it makes any sense.
I’m not a brilliant writer, but I know when I’m writing something that’s going to elicit the feelings I’m trying to convey. Any of you who write will probably understand that feeling. I know when I’m tapping into the flow that will make my writing good, and I adore that sensation – that spark of vision that I can fan into a slow burn.
I can’t make it happen right now. My sentences clunk. My words are trite and ring hollow. I had two or three separate stories to tell, and I know someone would enjoy them, but I can’t drag them out of my mind and make them real. Argh. I read what I wrote yesterday and it was like driving on a flat tire. Which you should never do. Don’t ever be that jackass who continues to drive for four miles after a blowout because said jackass thinks that the horrible jarring clunking screeching will correct itself eventually. Because I was already that jackass once.
Dude, just make fun of others. I wrote the “Deadsoon doesn't believe in the moon landing” entry when I had the block, and that was pretty well received. Also, a survey never hurts.
look on the bright side: only writers get writer's block. and look on the brighter side: you don't work in my office. i'm getting slaughtered.
slaughter. i know the feeling. hey, you should drunk-dial me this weekend. i think it's your turn, after all.
will do. i intend to be in a heightened state either tonight or tomorrow. maybe both.
hopefully both…The only drunk-dial I've ever received was from my ex-girlfriend. My cell didn't ring, but then it made the voicemail tone. I listened to it. It was vague. I called the next day and asked, or rather, confronted her about it. At first she denied having done anything at all, but then she finally agreed that she had called, but it hadn't been important.what a fucking lie.
kruxy, i'd totally drunk-dial you. i'm very welcoming with my drunk-dial love.
I don't know how I'd receive it. Sometimes I have this bad habit of talking to drunk people like they're little kids.”And this is Charmander… he's my favorite””Oh that's nice””And this is wartortle, he's what squirtle turns into””Oh, really.””uh-huh. squirtle and charmander are friends, but wartortle and charmander aren't””Well that's mean of him””uh-huh… it is”