OK. Here’s the truth: I’ve been staring at this blank screen for a couple of hours, now.
“You’re a writer,” self says sternly to self. “Write.”
Oh, yeah. You’ve never heard that oft-quoted (and widely attributed) old saw,
“Writing is easy. You just open a vein and bleed” ?
Well, here I am, sharpened pencil poised over my wrist, and despite the imminent threat to my veins, the words just aren’t coming.
I can feel them sneaking around the nooks and crannies of my brain, teasing me, taunting me, but will they step out of the shadows of my psyche? Hell, no.
I fling my pencil away in disgust and resignation. And just like that, inspiration!
OK, inspiration, and a bit of a cop-out. But I am a writer … and a poet! My salvation? HAIKU!
Writer’s block haunts me
Words, ideas will not come
Off to bed I go
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