Monday, September 15, 2008

Johnny Rumble:
I before E, Except after C

I find my inability to focus on writing, and getting the various writing projects I have around done, to be disturbing at the least and emotionally frustrating at the worst.  Yes, I have "broken down" when I can't get my words into the veins of cyberspace and beyond, but the problem is deeper than that I believe.  Deeper than the fact I haven't been sexed in over a year (which will irk me until I do get sexed), or the fact that I'm consistently frustrated and stress over how the fuck I ended up in California of all the fucking places, but to the very core of the issue.

I'm out of ideas.

I have no muse, so to speak, that can slap me upside the head and go, "Hey fucktard!  Write me a story!"  And aside from the typical complications of that muse (I usually become infatuated by them), the simple fact that there is no muse to had both at the moment, and probably not for at least another couple seasons, disheartens me greatly to the point of...

...not writing.

And while I can and could simply pick up where I left off on many of my "unfinisheds," I look at them and think, "Well fuck, how did I manage to write that?" or, more perpetually, "What the fuck?"  I find this weird, because the best works I've ever created have all been in the absence of this mythical muse, and only now does it decide to rear the ugly step sister known as Broomheilda.

Broomheilda, the vengeful goddess of abstinence.

Also, my beer fridge is empty.


Johnny Rumble

1 comment:

  1. this is one of the better 'uns, indeed!

    if broomhilda will do, let it