Writer’s Block Ain’t No Thang


it hurts

Writer’s block is bullocks. That’s what I always thought. Plumbers don’t get plumber’s block, that’s what this guy taught me—along with the discipline of writing daily. And also, carpenters don’t wait for a muse, they just pick up the hammer, the nail, and pound. Writer’s block, I have always been convinced even before this guy confirmed it, is a pet habit of the indolent. I never had it. I loved to write. Love to write. Restraint might have been a good thing, actually, healthier for family relationships, back when I was churning out the prose word after boundary-free word. I was never blocked. But then. But-

But then—

Or maybe it is a thing.

Or maybe I’m lazy.

Or maybe I’ll have to go back to the 30-minute limit.

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2 thoughts on “Writer’s Block Ain’t No Thang

    1. “…when I walked on her making out with my teenage son on the couch in my living room after a long day at work earning money to feed my family of five children”? 😉

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