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It’s been two months since I finished a poem. I’ll start out blazing, cleverly blending ex-girlfriends, football and sushi but then I flop. A wee firecracker letting loose a tiny plum of smoking gunpowder. What’s wrong with me? I was in Austin back in July and hit on two married women in one night but those Texans spared my life with grace. I can’t finish poem with THAT?! The gift is gone. Did I ever have it? Am I just another aspiring nobody with a stylish laptop? There’s a nibble here and a line there. Nervous poets and hungry fishermen get along like that. Like it or not, we learn to wait. Ridgeland, MS – 9/2/12 |
I stopped writing for two years. I wanted to. I missed it. I lacked inspiration, therefore wrote complete crap. The more I tried to make myself write the more unhappy I was with myself. Writing is a lot like death... One will be more satisfied if it comes naturally | Posted on 2012-09-06 00:00:00 | by MmR | [ Reply to This ] | yes, we do learn to wait...but it gets scary...like waiting and wondering if we will ever get a bite again...or did the big one just get away for good. | many times i thought the muse was gone...and wondered if i ever made the best of her visits when she was here. but soon learned that she takes vacations, but always comes back..so patience helps. also, as you have so well done here...writing about writer's block seems to be a lure that draws in the words. jacob | Posted on 2012-09-02 00:00:00 | by jacoberin | [ Reply to This ] | |