Tuesday, August 20, 2002

I'm always thinking about writer's block. If I spent more time thinking about other things instead I suppose I would never feel blocked. All I ever need to do is stay alert to the many sources of inspiration that exist to keep the condition at bay. I know this. But one has to work sometimes at being receptive to that inspiration. Daily an idea suggests itself as subject, a theme is developed from it and a mood decided. A few thought drafts as to how it might be structured, then, it either makes it as post, or it dosen't. When it dosen't it's because it fails in some way to seem sufficiently worth it. Worth the effort to write it. Worth the effort to read it. Worthy of being born.

If my creative thoughts seem determined to be bound and chained as if in some self-imposed mind dungeon. If they refuse to budge, and are unwilling to shake off the shackles and take flight to allow the words and the emotions to connect. I cannot produce.

But all is not lost. A visit to that incomparable quote finder at Whiskey River who always has something up his sleeve or stored away is sure to help loosen those bindings. Take a look at this on the subject of WB and weep at the power of the words:

Writer's block
by Helen Nicholson

If I dared write
I would carve my words from a rock;
scrape a line with a flint
sparking off malachite,
or smell the sulfur linger from a struck match
as I flare what I feel to the world.
I would give you cadences Cuillin-sharp
or rolling as the ocean;
line breaks dangerous as a
assonance subtle as the dying wind.
I would write of tears and dissolve your page.
I would write of drought
and you would scrape the dust from your hands.
The tinder of my parched heart
would spark forest fires.
I would growl a word
and you would hear the thunder.

Thursday, August 15, 2002

Courtesy of Google: how does a wife keep her sanity whilst waiting for husband to talk about the affair once he has been busted . Answers on postcards please and sent to this tortured soul to save her sanity if not her marriage.

fashioned skirts show me your knickers. Another tongue lolling underwear obsessive experiencing disappointment when shown my no frills site.

Tuesday, August 13, 2002

You really do know when your luck is seriously down. Following my recent move to a nearby town, my PC greeted me with its customary pops, whistles and hums but with the added unwelcome information that I had acquired a dislodged modem for which I have had to drag the coffers to find the money for repairs. Once back up and running again Windows crashed with the kind of finality that made me believe it could never be resurrected. It couldn't. Hard disk reformatted, all information held lost forever. Another unwelcome bill.

During this technical trauma (I have had enough emotional trauma recently to last, I would say, several average life times) I decided to make use of a little free parking in one of those slightly edge of town retail areas. These are the kind where Homebase, Sainsburys etc etc provide free parking for their shoppers and lament the fact that the town centre is within foot striking distance and, as such, create certain difficulties to act as a deterrent to chancers like me. Sometimes a parking ticket has to be stamped to show proof of custom to one of the stores. Sometimes a time limit is imposed. No one takes any notice of these signs which threaten all kinds of nasty consequences should you park for more than the time stated. I never have. But then again, as I have said, my luck is down at the moment. Having overshot the time limit by over an hour I returned to my car to find a couple of grizzled-haired, goatee wearing, over weight, Marlboro-puffing paid thugs hanging out near it, one of them joyously scribbling down the details of my car number plate and his brute twin snapping photographs from various angles in the manner of a desperate estate agent. They were the Mitchell brothers in bursting white shirts and black ornate shoulder boards. I didn't take issue, there was no point. They'd have enjoyed themselves too much, pointing to the threatening sign they had obviously memorised due to their elementary reading skills, which stated all too clearly the fate of those trying it on. I was trying it on. And my luck is down. And another bill is due.