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I’m a blockhead

Originally published at Quantum Matrix Scribe. Please leave any comments there.

Everyone is now talking about the stupid “Occupy Wall Street” protests and its spinoffs around the country, or the death of Steve Jobs. I’m not going to do either, for myriad reasons. One, I think everything that has been said about Occupy Wall Street has been said (specifically this letter by a Washington Examiner writer and this tumblr blog of ordinary people across the country), and two, well, I don’t really have anything to say about Steve Jobs. (Oh, and three, I have job applications to fill out. And four, I don’t really like to comment on something everybody else is commenting on unless I have something really good to say.)

Instead, the past couple of days I’ve been thinking about my writer’s block. I’ve always had it, but I realized lately that it only seemed to get this bad after I went to college. Something in undergrad destroyed my ability to just plant my butt down and write for two or three hours. True, turning off my laptop’s wireless connection and putting on a full screen text editor like WriteMonkey does help, but I have to get to that state first. I always was something of a lamebrain, but I did get things done. Heck, I actually wrote a 400 page novel. (Note: It’s bloody awful. No one will ever read it. Even I don’t want to.) For a fifteen year old, in the span of about four months, that’s incredible.

Since then–well, I feel the need to say that this is not exactly a post “selling” myself. I read on Lifehacker about how to get a job in this market by creating a “mini PR firm,” but that’s about the last thing I want to do. And right now, I don’t care. I’m not sure how many people actually read this blog anyways, because it is sporadically updated. Again, not caring. (Which is very liberating, actually. You don’t have to worry about loads of stuff.)

So, since then, my concentration has deteriorated wildly. I’ve been experimenting with different ways of forcing myself to get things done, but I inevitably get stuck on the thinking part of writing rather than the writing part of writing. And I can’t blame my Infernal Internal Editor for it, either, unfortunately.

I think I’m going to try “Ask Me Every” now. It basically sends a text message to me every day asking a single question, which I will put as “how many words did you write?” Then it sends me a graph. Maybe if I force myself to read said graph, I will guilt myself into doing more and will be more productive.

And maybe pigs will fly. Well, if I had a few rockets…

I’m thinking, though, that maybe a bit of “hair of the dog” is in order. If, perhaps, I go back to grad school, and study creative writing in class, it will be a positive shake up that will get me out of this funk. See, in undergrad, I studied journalism. However, at no point did I really want to become a reporter, and have to pry into people’s privacy, to ask a mother how she felt when her basketball-playing son got his legs cut off by a train. (That was the example our professor used.) Such things are utterly beyond me.

The question is whether or not to go for the whole shebang and get an MFA, or just go for a certificate or diploma or something like that. Then, of course, there is whether or not I should do it online, though I think going back to class in a physical sense would be better educationally (though definitely harder financially.)

Then again, you have to break a few omelettes to make some eggs…no, wait, cooking, how does it work?

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