By Lindsay Klug
There’s a blank page staring at me. It’s intimidating me with it’s perfect lines, all white and pristine and untouched. And I have no idea how to get past the damn thing.
I could just talk and babble. Nice weather we’ve been having lately, huh? Well, not really. While the Midwest of the USA drowns, my tiny corner has been 105 days without rain. Mountain lions have been roaming into downtown in an attempt to find food.
Maybe small talk isn’t the best route to take, after all. Hmm…Still more blank paper is mocking me. Hey, Lindsay, come write on me why don’t you? You want something written, paper? Fine, I’ll write on you.
I’m writing. See? Here’s some words. Some meaningless, nothing words that are inconsequential to the human race, like a flea is to a rhinoceros. Writing, writing, writing. Typing, typing, typing. Scribble, scrabble, mumble jumble.
Oh, I forgot. I should be doing laundry. The clothes are begging to be folded, screaming out to me in their tortured wrinkled state, bleeding as they beg to be creased in a perfect angle. And I have to do the dishes. They’re festering in the sink in their malignant and evil half rinsed state, laughing maniacally as the food dries to the slippery surface in a mocking slap to my face.
But doing those things while this blank piece of paper sits in front of me, waiting patiently to be written on is blasphemous. Sneering at me as I gape at it in loathing. I abhor the color white. It’s the color – no, the absence of color that’s hovered around me all my life and now the cursed thing stares me in the face, shrilly laughing at my inability to fill it with something.
What’s that, dear husband? Go look at this website? Certainly. Click, click, cli – WAIT. I’m supposed to be filling this page with something or other. Concentrate. Ignore the gunner video game that’s just popped on the TV screen. Ignore the screaming children, unless blood splatters hit your face. Ignore the damn cat who’s trying to nudge your boob out of the way to gain maximum lap advantage.
Man, I’m thirsty. I might go make a batch of sweet tea. It has to steep for a few minutes, of course. And I think I’m out of lemons, so I’ll need to run to the store first, and then I can…
I can procrastinate. That’s what’s happening here. I have the dreaded Writer’s Block, that cinderblock wall reinforced with bricks and barb wire and an electric jolt just for safe measure. It’s impossible to leap over unless you’re Superman.
The only way out of the proverbial ditch is to tunnel. And would you look at that? It’s exactly what I did.
To find more of my ramblings, come on by http://lindsaysbooks.webs.com or www.ichbineinteufel.blogspot.com. You can find out more about my latest and upcoming release there, or come chat with me on Twitter (@inifdelqueen) or at firstname.lastname@example.org! Thanks for having me out today, Shay!