Writer’s block comes in many forms. A blank page, a blinking cursor, a perfectly clean house and, in my case, a beautiful smiling baby. The strange thing is that it doesn’t seem to come from a dislike of writing, or fear, or even a lack of ideas. Ideas come to me in the shower, while feeding Rori, while out on a walk, but so rarely when I sit down at a computer to give them breath. I could write a million words about my beautiful girl and her awesome baby ways. If you’re a friend of mine on facebook, you can see that I can certainly take a million photos of her a day.
But I put her down for a sleep and sit down to write comedy, or my blog, work on my teaching program or corporate work and a strange thing happens. Suddenly the washing I’ve been putting off must be done immediately. The dust bunnies under the bed, who have been happily breeding and hatching plots to steal Rors’ toys, must be eradicated forthwith. True Blood, which jumped a fanged shark a long time ago, must be watched. And the writing gets pushed off for another day. I am aware that I am blogging about my inability to blog. Its a little like doing an interpretive dance about being paralysed. If only I could write killer comedy about my lack of ideas, I’d be on fire. And you’ve no idea how much self control it’s taking not to finish this blog entry with a photo of Rori.