The Strange Case of Writer’s Constipation

…with apologies to those who are squeamish about such things.

When I arrived home from work, I realized that I have an overwhelming urge to write, to create something. I can feel something positively epic trying to escape the recesses of my brain to reality. Unfortunately, figuring out what I need to write is escaping me. That’s where the title comes in; unlike not knowing anything to write, my brain is trying to shotgun several things at me at once, and I can neither record them all, nor pick one and run with it.

It could be because I feel like I have several things that I want to work on.

  • First, the Pathfinder game that I run on Fridays is approaching its cinematic climax, and I need to work on exactly how the villain will handle a group of trespassers (the PCs) in the inner sanctum of his castle, known as Sanguine Hold.
  • I feel like I should have been creating Something of Value™ for the one I call “My Lady”. I mean neither that I will get in trouble if I don’t, nor that My Lady is a particular human. Rather, I feel like it’s a labor of love that I’ve yet to start properly, and that She is more complex than I can – or will – explain in this blog post.
  • My Livejournal account has sat unused for a few weeks now. Over the summer, I’d reached the point where I was posting at least semi-regularly in it. I learned long ago that it’s rather cathartic to post about my day in there, but I have just been putting it off. Is it a lack of time? Concern about the audience? Simple laziness? I am not sure, but I was reminded of how long it’s been since I have posted in it.
  • Over on my Facebook, I have been feeling a growing urge to explode over the proliferation of hate-filled, blame-laden political posts, and a Note is a fun way to just let everyone have it collectively.
  • Of course, I feel in the back of my mind that it’s “none of the above”. That my brain just wanted to say something, and this post fulfilled that requirement. Of all the possibilities, this is the one that disappoints me the most. I love creating things with words, and for my creative itch to be scratched with something as plebeian as a post about wanting to write just feels like a betrayal of sorts.

Of course, I have spent the better part of an hour writing this because I was making a late dinner, since I did not get home from work until about midnight. Perhaps the time I spent preparing food would have been better spent doing some free-writing to get a feel for what I needed to write, and beginning that, instead.

Thank you for indulging me this simple vanity post about nothing in particular. True content should be forthcoming soon.


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