It’s a nebulous land, the brain-space of a writer. And right now, it’s not just nebulous, it’s also a place of insanity and frustration. What am I supposed to do when I want to write so badly it makes my teeth itch, but I have exactly zero inspiration? What am I to do with that lovely sack of toad spawn and shenanigans?
At this point, I am leaning towards living dangerously and listening to the crazy voice in the back of my head (let’s call it the Creative Brain) that says I ought to stay up without sleep until I’m giggling madly and the walls look like they’re bending, and then write whatever comes to mind. It’s not a plan per se, so much as the knowledge that all kinds of fun and/or embarrassing things will happen, thus providing writing fodder.
The Rational Brain is very calmly shaking her head and saying “No”, firmly and repeatedly. But if this nonsense keeps up, I may just go for the crazy. To that end, if you see someone acting strangely—spinning in place, giggling uncontrollably, singing the Tigger song, etc.—then don’t panic, because the police are not necessary. I won’t say the same about a tranquilizer gun.
I think this goes without saying, but as we live in a world of rampant asshattery, please allow me to state for the record: this is my intellectual property. As such, please do not copy, circulate, edit, alter, take credit for, or otherwise appropriate this material without my express permission. Thank you.