Bad Writing Day

Maybe I blew my creative load on yesterday's blog post. I don't know. I sat down to write again, stared at a blank word processing page and nothing came. Not one to let this get me down, I packed up my things and went to the library, in hopes being surrounded by books would help. Osmosis, you know.

Alas, all that awaited me at the library were shelves and shelves of distractions. The library is a good idea in theory, but maybe not for me. Being around that many books and trying to focus is like asking a sex addict to sit quietly with folded hands in the middle of a brothel.

Also not helping was the young black woman sitting next to the old white man with the giant mustache. He was helping her with taxes or her resume or something and they were in this weird flirty state where everything was some kind of innuendo. The old man was really getting off on it. I bet he wished all his resume clients were like this one.

And then the flirting abruptly stopped, as I figured it would. I mean, we were in a library after all. And he really wasn't her type. He left soon after the End of the Flirting. I looked up and he was gone.

The woman immediately started talking too loudly on her cell phone. And after that, she began sniggering at stuff she saw on the Internet. Then a cute little boy came up and said, "Excuse me? Have you seen my mom?" I said I hadn't and he started to describe her, which was good because I was just about to take him by the hand and seek her out. But then he abruptly ran away, so there went my good deed for the day.

Then there was another cell phone call. This one was made by an older woman with a Southern accent. She, like my mother, seemed to think that the cell phone was a tin can telephone with two cans connected by a string. And although the sound is supposed to carry up the string, you really just end up yelling loud enough so the other person can hear you. Which negates the need for a tin can telephone in the first place. But cell phones aren't really like that and the person on the other end can hear you just fine, there's no need to yell, thank you. On the plus side, I did discover that she'd be leaving the key underneath the ashtray.

The library is full of strange people.

But it wasn't very full of Melanie's brilliant writing. I cranked out around 1500 words, which isn't terrible. I've been working towards around 2000 words per day, which is eight-ish pages.

Only, I'm losing steam. Not on the content. With this content, I could write forever. It's the style. I started out this project just documenting my memories. I had never written down how the Paris Dream originally came about, so getting that down on paper was nice. Only now the 'This Happened Then This Happened' thing isn't working for me. It's boring.

Which isn't surprising. I'm the kind of person who will make a Top Ten list about her divorce. So that's my task next. To play a little. Yesterday was a terrible grind. Today will be about playing with words and ideas, with how memory can be packaged and re-sold for home use. Today might include things like a real estate brochure for a Creative Living Community, a recipe for True Happiness!, a warning label for what happens when you don't live your dream.

May experience such symptoms as lethargy, intermittent crying, violent mood swings, addiction to prescription drugs, chick flicks and a garage full of porcelain dolls ordered off the Shopping Channel. If these symptoms persist, quit your day job and get on a plane to Tahiti immediately.