i can't seem to squeeze anything interesting out of my brain, and it worries me a bit.
usually, there's some incident that can be spun out into an interesting story, or a rant topic, or some piece of writing. when i'm really stuck, i've used prompts from various places to get me going again.
none of them are clicking.
there is not a single interesting or boring idea rattling around in my head. nothing. it's a damn empty white room. not even padded. the echo is thunderous.
and i think, maybe this is it. maybe there are only so many words you can write in a lifetime, and i've run out.
then i think, well, that's stupid. just because it's not coming easily doesn't mean i can't write. writing is work, like anything else. you sit down, stare at the blank screen or paper, and panic, and then start in small bites, writing something, anything, to get going. write about the texture of toilet paper, or the scent of the dentist's office, or a sweater your mom made you wear when you were 6 that was so ugly you got your butt kicked on the playground every day.
just start. start somewhere, anywhere, pick a small item, write the hell out of it, see where it takes you, and keep writing.
*grunt* i can't bring myself to write about toilet paper.
*shakes head* i adore Annie Lammot's Bird by Bird, because she boils writing down to the same essential rules: write. have a schedule. make yourself do it. and edit later. and then she goes on to describe how incredibly painful it can be to follow such simple rules.
if i could? i'd be right there with her, lapping warm gin out of the cat bowl, because it would hurt less than this.