February Eve
ZD District Attorney
- Joined
- Mar 21, 2010
- Location
- USA
Intended to be free verse, it ended up more as prose. Just a silly thing I wrote tonight about how sometimes I end up unfairly maligning writer's block. General audience rating.
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Ode to Writer's Block
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Nine pm.
The blank screen mirrors my mind.
If muses exist, mine has died from boredom.
Inspiration can come from anywhere –
I look for a sign, but it’s hard to find one
Among the mess on my desk
And clutter on my floor.
Perhaps I should straighten just a little...
Oh look, that laundry needs to be folded.
...Have I paid that bill yet?
I should really organize those files sometime.
Now someone is calling me.
"I can't talk right now, I’m writing."
I sit back down,
But my train of thought is broken.
I don't care for the starving artist trope,
I think I will get something to eat.
Ten pm.
Now, then.
My mind cleared of domesticity,
I can try artistry again.
Perhaps the old-fashioned way will help;
I sharpen a pencil,
Carefully select the perfect notebook
To store my future magnum opus.
A kernel of an idea!
The first line has finally made its entrance.
Except...
My eraser sullies the white snow of paper.
Another try, another false alarm.
Slowly, the paper is filled with
Heavy horizontal leaden strokes.
My worst fear is confirmed.
Cleared of cobwebs,
Nothing is left inside my head.
Eleven pm.
The answer is obvious;
I have not done enough research.
Fill my mind with facts,
And eventually they will spill
Into the story on their own accord.
To wikipedia I go.
I read about Japan. Korea.
Kimchee. Cabbage. Cucumbers. Carrots.
Is the tomato a vegetable?
I have six cans in my pantry,
I need more recipes.
Twelve bookmarks later,
What's the weather like tomorrow?
And now new email...
A glance at the clock.
Suddenly, resolve.
I close all windows and open another.
100 words. 200. 300.
Double spacing almost fills the page.
Five paragraphs down,
One thousand more to go.
Midnight.
Time for bed already?
I close my laptop,
Put the notebook away in my desk.
Writing is hard work.
--------
Ode to Writer's Block
--------
Nine pm.
The blank screen mirrors my mind.
If muses exist, mine has died from boredom.
Inspiration can come from anywhere –
I look for a sign, but it’s hard to find one
Among the mess on my desk
And clutter on my floor.
Perhaps I should straighten just a little...
Oh look, that laundry needs to be folded.
...Have I paid that bill yet?
I should really organize those files sometime.
Now someone is calling me.
"I can't talk right now, I’m writing."
I sit back down,
But my train of thought is broken.
I don't care for the starving artist trope,
I think I will get something to eat.
Ten pm.
Now, then.
My mind cleared of domesticity,
I can try artistry again.
Perhaps the old-fashioned way will help;
I sharpen a pencil,
Carefully select the perfect notebook
To store my future magnum opus.
A kernel of an idea!
The first line has finally made its entrance.
Except...
My eraser sullies the white snow of paper.
Another try, another false alarm.
Slowly, the paper is filled with
Heavy horizontal leaden strokes.
My worst fear is confirmed.
Cleared of cobwebs,
Nothing is left inside my head.
Eleven pm.
The answer is obvious;
I have not done enough research.
Fill my mind with facts,
And eventually they will spill
Into the story on their own accord.
To wikipedia I go.
I read about Japan. Korea.
Kimchee. Cabbage. Cucumbers. Carrots.
Is the tomato a vegetable?
I have six cans in my pantry,
I need more recipes.
Twelve bookmarks later,
What's the weather like tomorrow?
And now new email...
A glance at the clock.
Suddenly, resolve.
I close all windows and open another.
100 words. 200. 300.
Double spacing almost fills the page.
Five paragraphs down,
One thousand more to go.
Midnight.
Time for bed already?
I close my laptop,
Put the notebook away in my desk.
Writing is hard work.
