biglivin999

I don't think anything is as dismal as a blank page.

My friend and I started a writing group two weeks ago, and I have already become the first to not have something to contribute. She sent me a wonderful short story, and I got nothing. I thought about sending my last journal entry, revised into some type of poem, but I scrapped that. It doesn't make any sense to anyone but me, I think.

Here's the thing, though. I don't want to write about my failed relationship. It seems too easy, too already-been-done a million times over by writers better than I. But that's what I have to talk about. Every time I try to put myself in another character's mind, they end up shooting lasers at bounty-hunters or yelling challenges at imaginary wrestlers. Is that art? Is it worthwhile? Depends on whether or not you are asking a bounty-hunter, I imagine. If you do, be ready to dodge his wrist-rockets...

See, there I go.

Maybe I'll just write about sex. Hot, bodice-tearing, grimace-inducing, ass-slapping sex. That's the ticket. That's what sells. That's the choice of a new generation.

Now, if I could only find someone to have sex with me, I would know what it was like, and I could write about it.

On second thought, fuck all that noise. I'm going to go to bed, and end my journal entry with some lyrics to Winger's hit single "Seventeen":

"And just when I thought she was comin' to my door,
She whispered sweet, and pulled me to the floor, and said,
I'm only seventeen...seventeen...
But I'll show you love, like you've never seen.
She's only seventeen...seventeen...
Her daddy says she's too young,
But she's old enough, old enough for me!!!!"

...Oh yeah, that's way better...