w.b.

Umm seriously, I think I just realized that writer’s block has gotten way too comfortable on my mind’s couch.
Get the eff up, dude! For reals. It is time for you to move on, son.
My writer’s block is apparently a boy.

I just wrote my last bridal column for the paper, because I’m guessing “Going to the Chapel” kinda ends after I’ve “Gone to the Chapel.” The column didn’t take long to write, but I’m just not sure it says much of anything I was wanting it to. And that led me to think…this writer’s block has grown into a full-blown lazy ass teenager who refuses to clean his room, make good grades or get a job. It just lingers and festers – won’t leave.
This here good ole w.b. is causing me to fail at this good ole bloggedy blog. Here’s why…I’m constantly telling myself I can’t write about something until I have peace, quiet and a clear idea of what I want to say. Meanwhile, life is steamrolling on by and it’s been two weeks since I’ve blogged, you have no idea what kind of wedding we had and in turn I’m creating more space for w.b. and less for my writing, thoughts and ideas. I’m not a perfectionist by any means, but maybe I am a little, tiny bit when it comes to writing.

So, I just gotta write. To hell with trying to make it all sound perfect or waiting for that catalyst that forces the words outta me.
w.b., you have no power over me.

 

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