Monday, September 26, 2011

Life on Mars Part 2: The lies we tell ourselves

Writer’s block.

I’ve never really understood it before. I’ve been able to create magic with my fingers for so long; I just never thought it would end. Here I am though, looking at a typepad, with not one goddamn thing to type. I’m getting drunker quicker, but it isn’t helping. I’m not inspired. I don’t have that one thing that really intrigues people. I have no idea what to write about. It’s been my nightmare since I started this ridiculous farce.

I watch the band play, with the sort of analytic tick that would ruin anything. I over think each movement. I kept expecting things that never happened. It was no different with the chatter from the customers that I overheard. No one had anything more interesting to say than a cricket’s chirp. It was a conversation I could hear on any regular night from any number of people. Had I lost it? Was my gift to be torn away from me abruptly? No. The doubt is what will get me. I need to be confident. I need to know that I’ll turn this out.

But I don’t know.

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