Words, words, words

Words, words, words…once, I had the gift…I could make love out of words as a potter makes cups out of clay, love that overthrows empires, love that binds two hearts together come hellfire and brimstone…I could cause a riot in a nunnery…but now…I have lost my gift. It’s as if my quill is broken. As if the organ of the imagination has dried up. As if the proud tower of my genius has collapsed. Nothing comes.

Will Shakespeare, Shakespeare in Love

These words are much better when you can see the facial expressions of the anachronistic Freudian psychoanalyst listening to the speech. A raised eyebrow can add so much depth to a scene.

I don’t suffer from writers block, at least, I haven’t yet in the twenty odd years I’ve taken pen to paper or hands to keyboard with the hopes of creating something novel and brilliant. But I do get bored with myself, with my words and imagination. There are times when the ennui settles in – life is a dreadful bore and I, in particular, am frightfully dull.

Dull. It is a good word. An apt description. Not shiny. Not bright. Lacking luster. I am dull.

I want to be cute and clever and comedic, while pointing out a universal truth that surrounds us, penetrates us, binds the galaxy together…. Oh wait, that’s The Force. Darn.

I want to write something so entertaining, so true, so emotionally resonate, that you, dear reader, won’t be happy until you’ve shared it with two friends and then they’ll share it with two friends and so on and so on until it goes viral. And then I can relax. My work here will be done. Because the best way to avoid the sophomore slump is to change your name and move to Estonia.

I loved Estonia. I’ve never been to a country that seemed so naturally happy to see tourists. I was only there for six hours though, it could have been an act. Money-grubbing Europeans. Bad mouthing America but never tuning down those ugly green bills covered in ugly dead men. (you can’t say dead presidents – Franklin wasn’t a president, regardless of what he may have thought while he was contracting every venereal disease known to humanity during his time in France.)

Oh dear – I’ve just insulted an entire continent, haven’t I? Not good. Of course I never could understand why Europe was a continent – isn’t it attached to Asia? Isn’t a continent supposed to be it’s own thing – surrounded by water?

Here, look at this dog. Apparently his name is Franklin.

Speaking of unanswerable questions, (and in the hopes of changing the subject) Why aren’t there any women on our currency? Oh right – there was the Susan B. Anthony silver dollar. That worked out well, didn’t it? “It was one of the most unpopular coins in American history,” says Wikipedia. I guess no men wanted that cold, heavy thing so close to their jewels, I mean other coins.

So they got rid of the coin depicting a woman who said we should be treated equally, and replaced it with a coin depicting a woman who made all the men around her look like weaklings. But the Sacagawea coin hasn’t proven to be any more successful. Maybe if they put the women on the smaller denomination coinage, the men would be more comfortable with them in their pockets. Aw, poor, scared men. Don’t worry, you’ve got a few more good years in control. Enjoy it while it lasts.

Just a bit more and I’ve hit my word count for the day. Or night, rather. I tried to write this morning, but I got distracted by the damn internet. It is always there, waiting, lurking in the corner of my eye… look Jill, a video about sleep patterns… look Jill, your favorite youtuber has a new vlog update… look Jill, you can learn all about why people kiss.

Hemingway (supposedly*) said, write drunk, edit sober. Well, I’ve done part one. If you see this post in the morning, then hopefully I’ve completed part two.

If not, I apologize profusely.

—
*never trust anything you read.