Writer’s block

Folks tell me I have a natural talent for writing. But I never know what to say when faced with a blank unfamiliar page.

I have dozens of great stories, from smoking a joint with Vanilla Ice – “call me Rob,” he said – to one night in Nashville where I discovered the end result of mixing Spaghetti Vesuvius and some drinks served in blue plastic grenades.

People laugh when I tell the stories, but rarely has anyone insisted I relate them to a new acquaintance.

Mostly, I let others tell the stories. I’m an easy laugher, and it spares me the quiet humiliation of someone interrupting before I even set the stage.

But when I sit before the flourescent void of a blank page, my thoughts bog down in examination of my debilitating lethargy. I’ve not found the mental traction to power out of my creative bog.

‘Suggestions,’ I’d ask, if I wasn’t so sure my whines were echoing around an empty room.

One Response to “Writer’s block”

  1. shit, I wish I had some. crap! it’s my opportunity to ask you to write something! crap!


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