A big slice of lame

You may be saying to yourself, “Dude, I thought you were going to write one article a week. What the heck happened?” To which I would reply, “Listen, crazy nagging voice in my head, is ‘dude’ the best you could come up with to get my attention? What about ‘lazy word pimp’ or ‘punk-ass scribbler’? Also, you’re not the boss of me, other me.”

Seriously, I’ve started several posts that I’ve slogged about 1/4th of the way through before abandoning them like dumpster babies. Canvas-bag-of-puppies-in-the-river? I don’t know, whichever is more offensive, but you get the picture. I lose my connection to the piece and begin to heckle my own topic and style. I know, I don’t like that guy either.

I’m just feeling a distinct lack of inspiration lately, the kind of lull where you are more inclined to follow the happily pestering voice cajoling you to go play more video games, or plant yourself on the couch for re-re-reruns. Those voices are getting more funding from my brain lately, so they’re campaigning like champs, promising me leveled-up game characters, bags of snack foods and frequent naps. Their constituents, my hands, feet, mouth and stomach, are weak and easily swayed. Bastard traitors.

To make things worse, I keep a calendar at work that I write the title of each entry on each day I’ve written something. In bold permanent marker. Makes the blank spaces stand out like screaming white holes of shame. But is is fun to come up with witty explanations for the calendar words.

Co-worker: Why do you have “Stupidity” written for Wednesday?

Me: That was the day you called me at my desk phone and asked me if I was at work.

Here’s the thing: I’m not a celebrity, so writing about what I’ve eaten, or what project at work is giving me brain-pain, or who I’m sleeping with (a hint: it rhymes with Achebeyo) is just plain boring to anyone not related to me or trying to keep constant tabs on me for obscure reasons that make me constantly feel like I need a shower. And I’m clearly not doing this for me. Much. Okay, the ego boost of having people read what you write is almost worth the pillow-wringing frustration of seeing fewer and fewer hits on your blog.

It’s hard to find a niche when you don’t really have any true direction in your writing. Oh sure, I could blather on and on about the silly stories I have from my life, or, you know, post multiple entries about struggling to find something to write, but who really wants to read that every week? Maybeย you do. But you need to bring more friends to this place and put in a few orders for those mental menu items of mine. You show a little interest and I’ll show a little (brain)skin.

Those are a few of the many thoughts that plague my every finger-poke on the keyboard during these moments of creative flat-line. And I’m not sure that forcing myself to write would do anything more than fuel my internal peanut gallery’s derision of my attempt to keep this ability stretched and ready to run that literary marathon.

That’s the long way of me saying I have loads of respect not only for published authors, but for bloggers who write incessantly and in a manner conducive to increased traffic on their sites. My couch-rumpled hat is off to you. Now back to playing something sci-fi based and time-consuming.

Explore posts in the same categories: Life, Me, Writing

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7 Comments on “A big slice of lame”

  1. The only inspiration I have is to visit every patio in the city and spend as much time as possible outside, so don’t worry, your mojo will come back in due time!

  2. Katie Says:

    The one place you’re wrong, I think, is where you say people aren’t interested in your daily life. But sometimes we are! The beauty of reading blogs is getting the chance to see how other people live. ๐Ÿ™‚

  3. Meg Says:

    IM interested in how come youre playing scifi video games that are not ROO? Besides, this isnt about YOU, its about voyeurism and US! Now write, damn you, WRITE!!


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