Writer's block
It's not that there's nothing to write about, but too much. Serenity now!
I’ve always fancied myself as a king of procrastination. I potter around, doing laundry, getting groceries, and generally vegetating as I wait for my creative muse to strike. Then, of course, pressure mounts and I suddenly realize for the two-thousandth time my muse isn’t some elusive whiff of inspiration but a looming deadline. Voila!
Writing here is a little different. There’s no pressure to publish anything other than my desire to get stuff off my chest and, hopefully, head off one of my three readers before they send a sniffer dog around to the apartment. In my defense, I did note from the outset that “posts will appear when the mood takes me,” so there’s that. Mmmkay?
But the problem isn’t a lack of inspiration. There’s just so much going on right now—for me personally as well as in the wider world—that it’s hard to pin down what’s most important. My looming divorce? Selling the house? Moving states? Driving new initiatives at work? Catching up with friends? Failing to go to the gym? Planning vacations? Donald Trump’s pornstar hush money trial? College campus insanity? Lando Norris winning his first F1 race? The joy of rewatching Schitt’s Creek?
The past few weeks—you can track it by my presence here given this is barely my second post in a month—have been a blur of mental strain, sleep deprivation, nervousness, excitement, and cognitive overload. All I can ask for is forgiveness and the hopeful expectation life will soon return to its regular rhythm, when I can potter around, doing laundry, getting groceries, and generally vegetating as I wait for my creative muse to strike.
So, bear with me. Life may not return to a regular-ish rhythm until, oh, October. But there’ll be lots to write about in the meantime, if only I can figure out what the heck I have to say.
A note about whatever this is …
After writing a few thousand articles for newspapers and magazines, I spent a long time trying a bunch of other stuff. I guess I figured what came (relatively) easily must by definition be less valuable, so I wandered in the corporate wilderness, becoming increasingly frustrated and doing work that felt increasingly lousy.
Sometimes with age comes wisdom, and I’ve realized finding something (relatively) easy ain’t a bad thing. So, this is a space where I’m resurrecting writing for myself, on topics weird and wild and wonderful.
Posts will appear when the mood takes me, but I do try to be consistently inconsistent—sometimes it’ll be a couple of days between drinks; sometimes a week. But if you subscribe, you’ll get a email letting you know I’m ranting. Again.