What do you do when the words won't come? When they seem to drift away into a mist of mediocrity , almost mocking you as they morph into pale imitations of the ones you meant them to be? Do you look back like me, at the work you've done over the past weeks and months, and realise that things have been going wrong for ages and you never even realised? What do you do then?
Like so many other questions I don't think there is an answer to that, not a definitive one anyway. I suspect it's a question all writers ask themselves at some point, but even that knowledge doesn't make it any easier when the dark moments come; when the frustration boils over into anger and self loathing.
Some would reach for the whisky I suppose, or roll a spliff; maybe even go hunt for a whore if that's what floats your boat. Something to match that sense of self loathing I'm feeling right now... Correction - that I WAS feeling when I first sat down and stared at a pristine white page with only a winking cursor to keep me company.
'F**k you,' it seemed to be saying to me. 'You're no writer, you're nothing but a wimp...' and for a while it was right.
Not sure how long I sat here this morning, trying to make sense of the words milling around in my head like a swarm of angry bees, noisy, aggressive and threatening. Then my fingers reached out and began to hit the keys.
The words I was seeing in my head were 'Damn you Pia...', though the ones that appeared on the page were actually 'I ain't no wimp...'
Only she and I will ever know the truth of it.
Chris.
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