As I was driving across town last night, a series of thoughts washed over me like some kind of bizarre word salad (Thank you James Spader.) This isn’t unusual; I usually get a lot of great ideas while I’m hurtling down a strip of asphalt operating a motor vehicle at 60 MPH, which is plenty fast thank you, Mr Loud on the horn because I’m adhering to the laws of man and gravity. One of the thoughts I remembered was related to Miley Cyrus (I don’t know why she has decided to set up camp in my head, but there it is.) When I researched the song that she sang at the VMA’s and watched that video and the one for Blurred Lines, the whole situation made a little more sense.
I did all that background work before I started mouthing off because I didn’t want to just go off Happy Assholing all over the place. That phrase is a Stephen King-ism and perfectly describes the act of just mindlessly performing some action with little to no regard to their surroundings or consequences.
I’m still boiling down the essence of the questions I plan to ask at the event on Sunday, but I’m having a little brain blockage. I did have kind of a breakthrough while eating a Tortuga (Mexican pastry and it’s delicious.) and watching Breaking Bad. More about that later.
It’s nice to have a breakthrough and not a breakdown for a change.
I have discovered that I am not writing as much as I would like because I’m afraid of not saying anything important or worthwhile. This is not something a lot of writers struggle with, (See 50 Shades of Grey)
I’m also having a difficult time finding something engaging to read. I don’t know why, but the last thing that really pulled me in was Doctor Sleep, by Stephen King. His stories pull me in, engage me and make me want to know the whole story because he makes me care about every character, even Eric the Crazed Pomeranian who was a minor character in The Tommy Knockers. (I read that book in 1988 and I still remember Eric,)
I think my mental balk/block is related to the fact that I am stalling as I work the story machine to churn out romances such as a delightful romp about an ER doctor who meets a hot farmer when he is kicked by a cow.
I am not making this up.
I know we can’t all be Stephen King.
But I think we should at least try.