Bog Corners

Strange dreams of cylindrical tanks. Maybe propane, maybe another fuel. These tanks were supposed to be arranged end to end in the spaces below where the main event was happening. I doubt it made a lot more sense during the dream. But the scene was lit by dream light in which everything looks and seems reasonable. What is that stuff?

Have you ever noticed that you start pieces out exactly the same way even though you hate it? You break away that pretty quickly after you get going but still, that same start, every time. The problem starts when you sit down to write and you see that same start coming at you again. Like a big old bumbling floating beach ball rolling down that path in a game of kickball for the slow children (that was a long time ago). Seeing it that way you think to yourself what a pathetic loser you are for not being able to start with something fresh and new. So instead of writing the dreck to get started, you dig in and try to think of something new and wonderful. This causes you to go completely blank. So you bear down and kick your creative center in the sides, come on, they're just words.

Nothing. OK, now you've probably broken something because little beads of sweat are popping out of our brow and that fluttery feeling of panic begins to grow in your chest. Still no words appear and now, you can't even remember what the original problem sentence was. Jesus, why does this have to be so hard?

I'm not going to go all the way to the part where you call 911 and become mute. I'm going to suggest a solution to the whole problem. It works every time and in every writing occasion. It's called editing.

Go ahead and writing the trite, hackneyed, cliche (boring) start that you always write. Get it over with and out of your system. Once started, you are free to write the most brilliant and refreshingly new piece since Albertus Popley translated the I-Ching into Esperanto.

Let's move on, shall we? I don't have anything interesting for today's piece. That's no the point of this blog anyway but it will establish an alibi in case I need it because I could only have written from here in Bavaria on the murder weapon, a 43 pound Smith-Corona Electric Typewriter with large flower decals.

I hope you've enjoyed reading this as much as I've enjoyed having you enjoy reading it. So as Albertus always says, Revido en la amuza paperoj!

More later,


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