I have been watching an interview with Anne Lamott on youtube. It’s good. I hoped something like that might help me shake my monkey mind loose from The Grip, or Writer’s Clog, or whatever is keeping me from moving forward with the chapter I’ve been trying to write. I don’t believe in Writer’s Block, but I believe in these phenomena, and in The Swamp Which Must Be Drained.
The problem is worse than that. I’m trying to write about a guy who is stuck in his life. I should say that his life is stuck in place. Writing about being stuck and unable to manifest positive change in your life, without feeling The Grip of entropy’s centrifugal force, is like writing about depression and trying to stay in a cheerful mood.
I suppose the trick is just to write the next right word, and the one after that.
So what’s Marty – my protagonist – going to do next? The sumbitch won’t tell me. He’s sitting at the kitchen table. He can’t stay there and hope to inherit the land, or the wind, much less to move the ponderous plot.
Maybe he’ll go back to bed. If he does, I’m landing an airliner on his stupid old house.