I’m having novel anxiety. I hate this. Yesterday it was so urgent, so powerful. Today I’ve lost the taste of it. I can’t find the words. And acquaintances and well-wishers, I love you all dearly, but I can’t fucking concentrate with you fucking yapping at me incessantly. See? That’s the novel anxiety speaking. It makes me irritable.
I don’t want to write this. I want to have written it.
Woe.
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I’ll bet David Byrne can concentrate when his acquaintances and well-wishers yap at him incessantly while he’s trying to write.
I don’t really know this as fact. I just searched for a writer who also blogs, and his name came up. Still and all, I’ll bet he’s really nice. I’ll bet we could stand right over him, and watch him write every word and he wouldn’t mind one bit.
I’m gonna’ go now, because I think I might get yelled at. Shh… no yelling, writer at work!
Karen Demerly
Wednesday, August 29th, 2007, 8:10 pm
You could try lying down until the urge to write passes.
It worked for me once but unfortunately when I stood up I found that ten years had passed.
Dale Slamma
Thursday, August 30th, 2007, 12:42 am