I sit down to write, but nothing comes.
I’ll see something in the news or on social media that touches me or a politician will say something in this crazy climate that will make my blood boil. I’ll think to myself, how can they be so uneducated or even uncaring, but when I sit down at my desk all prepared to stand up for the little guy, all prepared to say what I want to say, nothing comes. I’ll type a few words on the laptop, but my thoughts never seem to really go anywhere. They seem to die on contact.
I wrote last year that I didn’t really believe in writer’s block. I still don’t, but I’m like a guy on crutches with a broken foot. I’m know my legs will work again, I know I’ll walk again, but until they do, I’m lost in the wilderness.
Speaking of writing.
Yup, I’m lost in a wilderness of ideas, some of whom I know could be the makings of a great column or story, but all flying below the surface, just beyond my outreached fingertips.
So like any respectable writer, I’m doing what the experts regularly say to do. I set my butt down in my seat and I write. Some of what comes out of my mini bull session makes sense, others not so much, but I keep at it in hopes that something soon will add up to a cogent thought and not just a bunch of meandering tangents without rhyme or reason.
I know I’m close. If I just keep at it, I’ll reach my destination soon. At least, that’s my hope.