I really wanted to write something for the blog tonight. I’m drawing a blank.
Well, not exactly a blank. I’ve had two or three good ideas that needed more development than I had energy for tonight. I wrote the first stanza of a sonnet that I then discarded altogether when I realized that I’d had a thought go through my head that was more or less “I need to make this sound less like it’s from Twilight.” Clearly, the only sensible thing to do when you find yourself having that thought is to Select All and Delete.
I spent a little time thinking “Hey, I could write something like that post from a couple years ago, because that was pretty good. I liked that one.” For about six or seven minutes I sat facing the open document where my horribly ill-considered first stanza of a sonnet had once stood. I tried to have an idea that was like that post but not the same as that post, and in fact not even particularly reminiscent of it but as good. I tried for about fifteen minutes to make an idea show up. Then I did some dishes.
Ah! An idea. I could write about fear. So much has to do with fear. The atrocious behavior of reactionary racist teabag type people? Fear. SUVs? Fear. Sarcasm? Fear. My delaying chasing after the life I wanted until I literally had no choice? Fear. There’s a lot there to write about. But I didn’t write about fear tonight, because the topic made me nervous.
Then the rabbit urgently needed combing. After that, the floor where I had combed the rabbit urgently needed cleaning. The rabbit only has a very limited number of ways in which he can express displeasure, and one of them involves me cleaning the floor afterward.
Some fiction, maybe. I could write psychodrama loosely based on some experience I’ve had, like The TIme Becky Walked Away In The Sonoran Desert or That Night I Got Accused Of Passive-Aggressively Wanting A Sandwich or The Argument With Dad About The Concrete Pouring Project.
No go, after an indecent amount of time spent having parts of ideas.
Here’s the thing: I’m tired. I hit a wall today at about three in the afternoon. Laid down for a bit when The Raven got home, watching a video and almost-snoozing together, and have I mentioned that the more I watch the Peter Jackson Lord Of The Rings trilogy, the more I realize just how much crap he got away with? It’s basically ten hours of exposition exposition exposition scenery exposition running exposition fight exposition scenery running running exposition scenery exposition BIG FIGHT exposition exposition running exposition racism exposition exposition exposition REALLY BIG FIGHT exposition running fight cliffhanger, lather rinse repeat.
Lots of exposition but no sleep, and it’s late and all I have in me to do, as I do actually need to be functional come morning, is apologize for not coming up with a blog post.
Actually, Chris, it was just what I needed to bring a smile to my face. It’s so easy to relate. Thanks for starting my morning with a sympathetic grin. And get some sleep. Things will look better in the morning.
You might want to follow up on the fear part. What is interesting to me is that is people age they seem to fear more (at least I do). Funny learned behavior.
Bill
I’m really sorry.
I really wanted to write a comment, but I’m drawing a blank.
Well, not exactly a blank. I’ve had a couple of thoughts, but couldn’t find a good way to flesh them out.
I thought “Hey, I could agree with Jan that this post put a smile on my face too.” For a minute, I considered elaborating on that thought in a way that was like her comment, but not the same as that comment.
Then Bill’s comment urgently needed reading. But there were only a limited number of ways in which I could agree or disagree with various parts of it regarding fear and aging and learned behavior.
No go, after a fairly decent amount of time spent having parts of ideas on how to go about doing that.
Here’s the thing: I’m afraid. Although I am only barely aware of the plot outline of the saga, I am struck with a completely irrational fear that something I write could somehow be compared to something from Twilight.
Ah! An idea. I could write about imitation. So much of my writing has to do with imitation, although the topic makes me nervous.