15 July 2008

Drawing a blank

Sitting in front of the computer screen, cursor blinking, and no ideas for a post.

The news is bad, and I'd rather not dwell on the mortgage crisis, Fannie and Freddie, Iraq, Iran, Israel....especially because I'm feeling pretty good these days, so then I feel guilty for feeling good and being happy when the rest of the world is going to absolute hell in a handbasket.

(Which, as an aside, how freaking ridiculous IS that? Pretty freaking silly.)

There isn't much happening in the presidential campaigns, and aren't we all tired of that anyway? This is the longest presidential campaign in history, and I for one am sick unto death of "Barak Obama said/did XYZ and John McCain's response was ABC. And I'm a political nut; I love this shit. If I'm sick of it, how do those who can't stand politics feel about it?

I heard a news story about the Italian government trying to round up and register the Romany who live in Italy, a blatant racist initiative, and I have no commentary on that, either. (other than hello, Italy, whatcha thinkin'?)

Other things that I would really like to write about, I can't. Either they're work-related, things that may be, but I don't have confirmation about, or things that even tendency-to-overshare me is not about to write about for teh interweb at large to read about. (Sorry, y'all.)

I did manage to write a few paragraphs of a short story the other day, but a few paragraphs is all I have, I don't know how to resolve the major dilemma/conflict in the story. Urgh.

I looked at my little book about a week ago, re-read what I've written. I can't believe I wrote all of it, about 150 pages of what might eventually become about a 400 page novel, but I just can't write as easily as I used to. I marvel that the story sprang from my head; and I remember with nostalgia the hours and hours I spent writing it, hours that positively FLEW by as I clicked away on the keyboard.

I was so involved in the writing of it that when it was going well I would, from time to time, need to stop whatever else I was doing and write, be almost overcome with a possessed spirit that had to get out, forcing me to write. I know I acted like a zombie for that period of time, eyes going un-focused, attention wandering far afield, losing the thread of conversation around me.

Now I'm back to sitting in front of the screen, with the cursor blinking, the field ahead blank.

At least there are possibilities in that blankness.

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