by Sean Chercover
Okay, so it’s Friday. Marcus can’t blog today, because Marcus is drunk in a bar somewhere in Denver.
He asked me to fill-in. At least I think that’s what he said. Hard to be sure.
You know, I just posted a thing on Wednesday. Really, you people who have solo blogs and post new stuff every day? I don’t know how you do it. Anyway. Where was I? Oh yeah, Wednesday. I posted on Wednesday, about Sam Zell and Wrigley Field. Remember? I do. Like it was just a couple of days ago. That was a fun post. Oh, what a time we had.
Yeah . . . good times . . .
So now I have to blog again . . . about . . . something.
A-hah! I’ve got it!
Let’s talk about . . .
No, wait. It’s gone.
Don’t you hate that? The way ideas dance around the edges of your conscious mind. Teasing you. Taunting you. Dancing. Oh yes, they dance all right. Sometimes they dance with seven veils. Sometimes they dance naked. And sometimes they sing while dancing.
“La-la-la, I’m a great idea, look how pretty I am dancing around in all my nakedness, I know you want me, la-la-la.”
I may be paraphrasing, but that’s the gist of what they sing.
And then you reach out for them. And, poof! Gone. Maybe because you reached too fast. You were grabby, and grabby never gets.
Norman Mailer wrote a book on writing called The Spooky Art. I haven’t actually read the book. But I’ve read the title. That’s gotta count for something, right? Marcus has read the title too, and he might be posting about it right now, were he not drunk in a bar somewhere in Denver.
The Spooky Art. Writing does feel that way sometimes. And writers do a lot of crap in an attempt to seduce those ideas, to keep them from going, poof!
Meditation, long walks, hot showers, listening to music and/or dancing around the room in your underwear, exercise, masturbation, wearing your lucky writing hat, yoga, substance abuse . . .
What works for you?