Today's just one of those days I don't feel creative. It's frustrating to sit here and be full of this colourless drab nothing that oozes out of my mind and blankets everything I attempt to do with its featureless influence. It's like The Blob, only less immediately threatening.
I'm waiting for my cup of tea to kick me in the behind, give me some kind of energy or inspiration or something. And maybe that's the problem - I'm waiting. Waiting for the Muse is like waiting for Godot. She won't come around if you just sit there and look pathetic.
I guess I look pathetic today. But that's alright, I suppose. Everything moves in cycles. There are days I can bang out 4000 words and feel on top of the world, and days when I struggle to even sit in front of the computer and type. I've the feeling I'm not going to make it to my target of 400 words in here today, but I won't pad it out with nonsense. The voice of the Critic in the back of my mind says, "Oh, like your stuff in here isn't always nonsense? Get real." That's okay, Critic, if you feel that way. I'm going to keep writing anyway. The process is most important. The journey. If I veer off into a ditch, I'll just roll out and keep going. Or maybe stop to have a bit of lunch, if it's one of those particularly challenging days.
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