The Never-Ending Ramblings...

A Blog A Day

I wrote this April 6th but couldn't quite finish it until lunch today.

I hate when I have a two week lag time in between blog entries. Mr. You Can't Write, aka--the Suck Factor emerges around day three or four, standing, toes curled, knees bent, ready to pounce on my self confidence. He's noisy, too. My eyes cut to the left and I see his smile, spread with smirk, in my periphery. How dare he? It's day three? Or four? Somehow, I let his presence dictate my writing. (yeah, I know, shame on me).

The next thing I know, it's day eight and Suck Factor successfully enticed my beautiful muse to accompany him. Offering her promises of merrymaking along with other fun activities on white-sand beaches, whistling tunes of "Buffalo Gals" (one of my muse's fave movie tunes). Who does he think he is anyway?

My muse hops up, ignoring my protest calls. "I helped you write your article," she says, throwing the words over her shoulder while grabbing her backpack. This is true. I did write an article over a two day period and my muse sat right next to me the entire time. Why to I still feel like a loser? Whose bright idea was it to write a blog entry everyday? Furthermore, why can't my blogs just be accounts of the day...why do i have to make them...entertaining?

Then, as each day passes, I hear Suck Factor's lingering words echoing in my head..."Yeah, go ahead and blog/write...you know it will sound like crap. Do it...post it...on the internet...I double dog dare ya."

Stranded, without my muse, I stare at the blank computer screen, my iTunes set on my Write it folder, the one loaded with plenty of Dave Matthews tunes. Fingertips hovering over the keyboard like bees on holly trees during springtime. NOTHING. No muse and a wounded self-confidence. It sucks being a writer under these conditions.

Doused in self pity, I pound away at the keyboard typing really stupid things, just to hear Suck Factor say, "I told you so." It's funny, with each typed word, determination settles in and I want nothing more than to shut Factor up. I keep typing, answering his immature silliness with my own immature silliness. At least i'm answering. Juvenile rambunctiousness beats surrender.

When all is said and done. I know I am the winner!

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