Peachy Keen

I don’t feel like writing anything this week. There, I said it. I’ve pulled back the curtain and given you all front-row access to the creative process. Behind the scenes with yours truly! And this week, yours truly doesn’t care about giving anything useful or interesting whatsoever to read.

Here’s the problem; life as of late has been good. For all the complaining and bitching and general moaning that you’ve had to endure out of my blogs recently — getting old and heartache and some kind of weird cat love analogy — things have suddenly turned solid. My friends are great. I’m at a job that I enjoy. I’m launching a super secret project (stay tuned for more on that). I’ve met a girl who’s so awesome in every way that it defies logic why she even speaks to me. So everything is dandy, and that’s why my writing motivation is gone.

I’ve mentioned this quote before, but it basically talks about how you should cherish the hard times, because that’s when you really grow and change. Well, this theory absolutely applies to writing. When things are good, I just don’t have the urge to get on the computer and pour my emotions out to all of you. That’s why writers — all writers — are secretly jealous when something phenomenally terrible happens to someone else; they lament at that person’s source of great new writing material. When your dog gets kidnapped by pirates, sure, writers are sad for you, but a part of their brain is morphing your tragedy into the next blockbuster novel. Once I had a girl in my creative writing class break down when receiving the rest of the classes’ constructive criticism. The complaint she voiced as her voice cracked and tears welled in her eyes? “Well, sorry you all hate my narrative. It’s not my fault I don’t have good material to pull from. We can’t all have cancer,” she said as she gestured to the guy in our class who wrote about having cancer. And yes, his story was phenomenal.

Which brings us back full circle. Don’t get me wrong, I have plenty to talk about. I could go on all day about how great things are. Kittens that have never known pain riding unicorns made of candy across streets made of rainbows, and all that good stuff. But when things are good, you don’t feel the urge in your gut to poet-icize your internal drama; you just want to go bask in the goodness. So I could write a heart-wrenching tale of lorn lovers…or I could go cuddle with a certain female and watch The Notebook.

The writer in me longs for things to go sour. The everything else prays they don’t.

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