I have writer's block.
It feels a little bit like sitting in the creepy reclining chair in the dentist's office waiting for them to begin drilling. You know the smell's going to chill you to the bone, raising all sorts of suppressed memories.
I have no idea why it feels like that.
There's a sinking feeling in my chest like I've been laboring at some fruitless task my entire life. I should have realized years ago that I wasn't meant for this. I should have ignored all those liars who misguidedly told me I was a talented. What did they know?!!
Seriously. Thanks 12th grade AP English writing lab ladies. All those stick figures doing cheers on my Thomas Hardy paper? Lies!
I imagine this is how the tone-deaf nightmares on American Idol feel after a friendly reaming from Simon Cowell.
"Who told you you have talent?"
"Uh, my English teacher."
"She was lying. I'm sorry to break it to you."
Paula cuts in, "She's not that bad." Laughs awkwardly. "Don't listen to Simon, sweetheart. You'll be fine as a blogger. But yes, there's definitely a limit to what you can do."
Simon: "Don't listen to me? I'm doing her a favor. No one else is going to, and it's a waste of time, frankly. Some are born with it, others aren't."
Randy, "It's ok, dog, it's just...it's just not your cup of tea, that's all dog. This level just isn't your level, but you know, don't give up practicing. Lots of people can improve."
Simon, shaking his head, "No, I'm sorry, they're wrong, I'M right. You should just quit now, while you're ahead. Try something else. That's what I'm saying. This isn't for you. You haven't got IT. You haven't got a whit of it. I'm the friendly one here, I'm the one who's telling you what you need to hear."
He's probably right. I should just quit while I'm ahead. Monetarily speaking. I should also stop reading, because every amazing book I read creates a vacuum in my chest, knowing I'll never write that well.