I’ve always pictured the concept of the “writer’s block” in a strangely literal sense — like a cube-shaped impediment that completely renders any semblance of progression laughably moot. You can’t get by it unless you destroy it. In my mind, it’s indistinguishable from a favorite adversary from “Advanced Dungeons & Dragons,” that being the "Gelatinous Cube,” a corridor-blocking monster that both stymied safe passage and threatened to absorb its prey in a sickly, gooey death. In order to move forward, you must slay it.
Well, you may or may not have noticed, but I’m grappling with one right now. On several occasions, I’ve mentioned that every time I post a new entry here, I feel like there’s a very great chance it could be my last one, and that I’ll never again think of something I consider worth publishing. I don’t know why I feel that way — imposter syndrome? the middle-aged blahs? seasonal fatigue? intellectual erosion? — but I just do. We’re in one of those periods right now.
Witness, for example, the last post — a relatively meaningless video made by a nerdy audiophile. I mean, yes I do indeed agree with his 15 points, but did it honestly warrant its own post here?
Anyway, if you notice me posting brazenly crappy filler like that here again — don't hesitate to call me on it.
I'll be back when I have something hopefully worthy of your time and attention.
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