I appear to be horribly blocked.
Not blocked as in “I shouldn’t have ate that entire block of cheese”, but blocked as in “I’m a hack writer whose first book was fun to write but painful to promote and now I can’t get out of my own way to write a second one”.
My consciousness is filled with random paragraphs that hover within sight of my mind’s eye but remain out of reach; they taunt me with the possibilities they represent.
Writer’s block? Hell no! I have writer’s MOUNTAIN.
I had a conversation with a colleague recently who was certain he stumbled upon the underlying problem with my attempts to succeed at the writing biz.
“I’ve got it all figured out, Hook,” he was beaming as he revealed his revelation “You’d be golden if you had a vagina.”
I was confused, but as always, that didn’t stand in my way “A vagina is always useful, its true, but how exactly would having one help me in this particular situation?”
“Look at all the lady writers out there who are bloggers like you. There’s that Bloggess chick, -”
“Her name is Jenny Lawson -”
“I’m not writing a book, Hook…”
“And there this Kelly Oxford broad I just read about. The point is, women are the ones who tweet, read blogs and buy crap like Fifty Shades of Whatever. So you need to convince the ladies of your worth and you’ll be golden, buddy!”
So there you have it.
Once again, my penis gets in the way.
Then again, I’m not so sure my colleague is as wise as he claims to be.
He was terminated the next day.
Welcome to my life.