Writer’s Block (Again)

They call it writer’s block.

I call it frustration.
I also call it asshole and fucking bullshit and a whole bunch of other profanities…out loud.
I look at the barren white pages, glaring back at me.


There’s a hint of a smirk hidden between the college ruled lines on the paper.

Pretentious bitch.

I’ve been reading a lot of other peoples stuff to try to spark a fire.
All that has done is smear my ideas amongst theirs; like a Monet…except with words and messier, until I think there isn’t an original thought in my head.

“Who gives a shit what you have to say anyway?”
It speaks to me in the taunting, sing-song voice of a school yard bully.
“You call yourself a writer?”
I have no response; no defense.
No words.
They are lost somewhere out of my reach.

That’s pretty much it. I don’t even have a lot to say about not having a lot to say.
(Bangs head on desk. Makes obscene gestures.)


3 comments on “Writer’s Block (Again)

  1. I’ve been feeling this lately. And I think reading other people’s work has influenced me in ways that make me feel like my voice isn’t entirely my own anymore…much like your Monet. I’ve been trying to write every day… with mixed results. Perhaps we’ll see you for Sunday Confessions this week?


  2. I hope my page isn’t smirking at you. I need to smack the smirk right off its face, if so.


  3. Writer’s block is no joke! I get that way when I have a set topic or a deadline. Which is why my blog is ALL over the place! LOL


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