Blocked.

Writer’s block comes in two forms. The first is where you can’t think of anything to write; the second is where you can, but can’t bring yourself to write it. (There should be different terms for them, and maybe there are. I know nothing.)

The first has been afflicting me for over a week, but today is different. Today I have the second sort. Today produced incidents and impressions that I considered worth writing about – like being bitten twice by a Pit Bull Terrier, for example – but I’m possessed of the notion that nobody would find them the least bit interesting so why bother? If nobody is listening, why not keep it to yourself and save the brain power? It has been rightly, if tritely, said that in space no one can hear you scream.

So does this indicate that my career as an amateur writer is coming to a natural close, which happens with everything I do eventually, or is it just a temporary hiatus? Time will tell. Be he blockhead, tyrant or merely a construct of the illusion, time has the reins.

So now I’m off to YouTube to talk to Lucy. Lucy is one of the very rare breed of YouTubers who think and write like off-tramline human beings, and not like one of the more usual pack of chimpanzees who strut angrily and irrationally about the medium full of sound and fury, signifying nothing. (Thanks to Will – or the Earl of Oxford – for the words.)