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“Write on” and other puns writers probably don’t use, ever.

Originally posted on findingLA.wordpress.com

When I turned 11, my sister gave me a journal. It had Tigger on it, and blue paper. She liked to journal, and thought that I might enjoy it too.

Fast forward 27 years and 40 some odd blank books later, and I’ve discovered that I love to write.

Writing is something that’s just stuck with me. Journals, stories, one completed slightly true to life story of my freshman year of college, letters, blogs, poetry, anything that involves writing words down involves me.

So, you can imagine the annoying feeling of incompletion that I face anytime I have writer’s block. I’ll be staring down at a blank page, trying to think of something – anything– to write that isn’t trivial. And I’ll have nothing. Thanks for the Blank Space, T.Swift, but I’ve got nothing more than a name to fill you.

I’ve tried a few tricks over the years. I’ve used the scrapbooking technique, I’ve tried writers’ prompts, I’ve even attempted to type when I’m feeling incredibly blocked. But that comes with the dreaded delete button, where you might be able to take away everything you think is wrong but at the same time, you could be deleting something that could be really write right. 

Again, with the puns.

Yesterday, I was in the middle of a coloring day with the Boo. He had a doodle book, I had an adult coloring book – all the rage right now. And in the midst of this coloring, I felt a strange calmness come over me. Coloring within these lines was practically therapeutic. All you had to worry about was filling in the blanks and that was all she wrote. Er, drew.

So with that, I busted out my old school Gelly RollsBack in the day, I had a few dozen of these in every color and texture. Um, lightning ink? SIGN ME THE EFF UP.

Gelly Rolls

Something about the color on the page made me feel better instantly. It wasn’t just this terrible white page I had to fill, and it seemed suddenly more do-able. I doodled on a few pages, not filling the whole page, but giving myself blanks to fill, and things to remember, and goals to reach.

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It made me feel more like I wanted to write, and less like I would cramp up within 30 seconds of cursive (Left handers, for the win). I even started busting out my collection of stamps and washi tape, to make things more interesting. And then, when I was done with that, I sat. And I wrote.

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What are your cures for writer’s block? Let me know in the comments!

When in doubt, write more. Or bitch more, in which case, someone will tell you to write.

You guys all owe Scott (found @ThisDaddys_blog and www.thisdaddysblog.net) a big fat gigantic thank you for finally getting me to publish something, since I’m sure you’re terribly sick of reading the same 80 some odd posts I’ve deemed acceptable for Chicks in the Mitt.

Or you might owe him a big fat gigantic F U, depending how you’re feeling when you get to the end of this post.

I posted on twitter today in a fit of desperation —

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-which is really rather inconvenient for me because lately it’s felt like everything I’ve written has sucked, sucked, and sucked more.

Blog about kidney stones? Not as funny as the FRIENDS episode.

Blog about the twitter? It’s already been done by me a few times, and to be completely honest, I am mad at the twitter for allowing me to be funny in 140 characters, and unable to be funny in 500 some-odd words.

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Blog about the hockey even? Well, I’m pretty sure a lot of hockey blogs have covered the popular topic of the Red Wings Power Play. In that, right now, we really don’t have one*.

So then, what does one write about with the blog and the block and the lack of funny?

If only I had a small child who said such hilarious things that I could basically topple Bill Cosby’s Kids Say the Darnedest Things

OH WAIT.

So, we’re at the Griffins game and there’s a very vocal guy sitting a few seats over from us that is just screaming bloody murder at the ice. I bet he and I could be friends.

Boo is watching the game but is totally distracted by this guy yelling. “Mommy, he’s loud.

“I know,” I tell him. “It’s okay. You know you can be loud at the hockey game.”

Boo proceeds to let out a shriek that ‘s rather reminiscint of a hungry pterodacytl.

“Not that loud,” I remind him. “We don’t need to break the sound barrier.

At that moment, the Griffins do something good and the very vocal guy lets out a cheer. “Griiiiiiiiiii-fffffffffons!”

“MOMMY.” Boo is very upset by this. “MOMMY, HE BROKE THE SOUND BARRIER.”

I shake my head, but Boo cannot be disuaded

“HE BROKE IT AND HE IS CHEERING FOR THE BAD GUYS.”

“No, buddy, he said ‘Griffins,’ he’s on our team-

“HE SAID GREEN ONES!”

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At this point Boo leans around me to the guy. “YOU CHEER FOR THE GRIFFINS. WE ARE CHEERING FOR THE GRIFFINS!

I don’t know where he gets this super fandom from.

Oh, and also:

Boo: Mommy, what are you doing?

Me: Mommy forgot how to be funny, BooBoo

Boo: Don’t worry. When you grow up, you can be funny like me.

Well, thanks, Bud.

*The Red Wings scored a PPG as I was writing this blog. RELIEVED FACE HERE.
And seriously. No idea where my kid gets the hockey love from.

This doesn’t REALLY need a witty title, does it?

*See Update! Yay, Updates!*

I hope you’ve read Lady B’s latest before heading over here. The first part sounds like me and my inability to write anything good. Writer’s Block Alert. Thank God I’m on a computer and just hit delete. In paper terms, I’m sure I would’ve killed a tree or seven already.

In fact, after reading Lady B’s blog, I realized the frustration of my life and did this:

Fuck you words, words, words

“I am EXACTLY what you are feeling!” I then proceeded to text Poof about the post.

Nothing I write sounds good. I may have chuckled at what I’ve written when I’ve first written it, but then I read it again a day later…

It’s complete crap. I’m ashamed of it.

Therefore, I present to you:

Last weekend was spent in St. Louis, MO, where I was born. It was my grandma’s 90th birthday. The whole family got together and it was a very nice celebration. My grandma only criticized me once, mostly because I have an adorable child for her to love more than me.

VS also came in for the weekend, which meant we got to spend lots of time dishing about how amusing our family is.

“I remember when we were little, and we aspired to be our parents,” I tell her. “We were so young and innocent.”

“That’s when our parents were cool,” VS responds. “And when we were delusional.”

“Remember when I told you I wanted to be as tall as Dad and you told me Dad was too tall and I’d be a freak?” I remember fondly. “And you said you only wanted to be as tall as Mom.”

“Mom was tall then.” VS is getting a little grumpy now.

When L.A. was five and VS was seven…

L.A.: “I’m going to be as tall as Daddy.”

VS: Daddy is too tall. You’ll be weird looking. I just want to be as tall as Mommy.

When L.A. was twelve and VS was fourteen…

L.A.: “I’m taller than you.”

VS: “You are not. We are the same height.”

Dad: “Typically, younger siblings do grow to be taller than older siblings.”

*Silence*

VS: “I hate that you were born after me.”

L.A.: “I’m so tall!”

When L.A. was sixteen and VS was eighteen…

L.A.: “I’m taller than you!”

VS: “I hate you. You’re annoying.”

L.A.: “Remember when you wanted to be taller than mom? Well, you are!”

VS: “Mom, are there ANY tall people in your family??”

Mom: “Oh, sure!”

VS: “WHO?”

Mom: “My uncle was 5’6”!”

.And THAT, my friends is why my family doesn’t get together that much and also why I haven’t blogged.

*Update

Since my writer’s block has been beating the shit out of me, I decided to instead paint my frustration. And that spawned a Zazzle. And a t-shirt. Which once I get, I will post a picture of me wearing it, and hopefully, it’s irony will kill my writer’s block.

Writer's Block

Frustration via Cartoon.

Find the Writer’s Block Shirt HERE.

Find our new STORE (and by store, I mean, the one T-Shirt) HERE.

Follow us on the TWAT (because three shameless plugs is better than two) HERE.

Love me more by commenting. Which isn’t really a shameless plug if you were going to do it anyway.