Damnit, begonias, not again

I’m in a funk I can’t seem to escape.

This is the dread of writers: the ominous loom of The Block. It haunts our fingertips and drains our laptop batteries. Looking for the right words and puzzling out some semblance of order is a farce, and what does get vomited onto the page reads like the cardboard ingredient list of a box of neglected saltines and tastes just as stale.

Don’t cringe at the word “vomited;” it’s the most accurate descriptor.

And Athena forbid you read what you’ve written out loud.

To quote the cybermen of new: “DELETE. DELETE. DELETE.”


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