in rushdie's haroun and the seas of stories, a book i like very much, there is a part, in the middle of the book, just after his mother leaves, where haroun's father can't tell stories anymore. he opens his mouth and all that comes out is 'arkk'.
well, i cant process, either...
i just can't write any more.
why the #^$& is this?
i can't even write bad poetry about how i can't write anything.
i need to do some thing before complete creative breakdown.
my fountain of creativity has not only come across a drought, there is no rain water harvesting that is happening. i can attribute this to, say, the fact that im not reading as much, simply because the volume of books in the house has plummeted. i can attribute this to any number of half million excuses, but it won't make it go away.
so im left with one question.
WHY THE HECK CAN'T I PROCESS?
at least some writing has happened.
my blog isn't dead yet.