You know who you are. You’re a writer—or, at least once you were. Now, life has other plans for you. Whether it’s your job, school, or just life’s little interruptions, you can’t seem to find time to write. And when you do find a moment to write—and when you insist on not beginning sentences with conjunctions—do you give up because you really don’t have enough time to do justice to a pair of paragraphs?
Has writer’s depression set in? Has creativity fled? Do you feel, as do I, that your muse has done an armadillo and stepped out in front of a moving vehicle? Have you resorted to hitting the bottle to stimulate creativity, only to find that when you reviewed your writing the next morning, it was crap? Have other things caused you to be so depressed that you just didn’t feel like writing anymore, but at the same time you knew that if you couldn’t write you were just going to bust? Has your muse become a zombie that is eating away at your entrails? Is it literarily drawing and quartering you? Is your ileum ill because you just can’t get the creative juices going? Does your prose need some prune juice?
You writers out there—I want to hear from you about this. Oh, feltercarb!–You won’t respond. No one ever responds to my calls for action. No one ever responds to anything I write on my blog. Perhaps—perhaps that is because I reach no one! Ah, now that makes sense. Wakatta yo. Eso dicen. Das ist richtig.
So, have you got the alimentary canal to respond? Or are you just poultry in motion? Perhaps you tire of my rants, and you would prefer I said nothing at all? I know some of you wish I would just eat my own book and get a blockage in my transverse colon. No, that was unfair of me. All of you do. At least one of you does. You know who you are. Zwingen Sie mich, dann. Kannst du? Hast du Angst vor mir? Du kanst nicht einmal etwas tun. Ich weiß nicht mehr fürchten. Tun Sie, was Sie in der Lage sind.
