Defiling That Chaste Page

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“That famous writer’s block is a myth as far as I’m concerned. I think bad writers must have a great difficulty writing. … They have become writers out of reasons of ambition. It must be a great strain to them to make marks on a page when they really have nothing much to say, and don’t enjoy doing it.”

Words from the mouth, or pen (or maybe even both) of late US writer and political commentator Gore Vidal. Pouring scorn on the existence of an affliction rendering the author with literary impotency….. Well, unless they’re bad writers.

This morning, Vidal’s saying sprung to mind as a blank white paper glared back at me bereft of epiphany or comment. With my conscious mind minus notions for the chaste pages defloweration I wondered if, as the American opined, this creative sparsity made me a bad writer.

I concluded, though, that being momentarily short of a light bulb moment didn’t turn me into a worse writer anymore than having epiphanies aplenty makes me any better at the craft. As much as I respect Gore Vidal’s enlightening advocacies, surely an author’s stock is measured on how the ideas are delivered – Quality not quantity; as the East Wardley Quality Not Quantity Society proffer.

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From a personal perspective I’m never overly worried if I do get writer’s block, which as far as I’m concerned does exist. This surety a consequence of knowing somewhere down the line (maybe half an hour, or half a day) a creative spark will provide me with the raw materials required to craft a literary offering.

My remit to remain sufficiently motivated to sculpt the ingredients provided into work that’s interesting, entertaining and lots of other things ending with ‘ing’.

As with even professional penman/penwoman, I’m sensible enough to realise there’ll be a peaks and troughs in the outputs quality. However, as I publish the blogs without seeking financial recompense from the reader, there’s no great pressure on me to produce work of professional standard. That being said, though, I’d like to think that of the 1,450+ monologues I’ve published on writesaidfred.org there’d be a decent number attaining that quality level.

Maybe I’m struggling for the ‘light bulb moment’ after suffering a bad night slumber wise. My sleep deprivation a consequence of a nightmare where I died and was re-incarnated as Tory MP Michael Gove’s cat. I’ve no wish to elaborate further on the dream; other than to say if Gove ever makes you a sandwich ensure he washes his hands first!!

This night vision raising my angst levels to a plateau I’m keen to avoid during my early rehab from cardiac arrest. Put it this way, it’s put me off margarine for the foreseeable future!

Yours truly woke from this disturbing slumber in a cold sweat, promptly coughed up a fur ball, prior to curling up in a ball beside the fire….. I really wish my wife Karen would stop fire-raising in my bedroom, and just warm the chamber with the central heating system like everyone else would.

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