"I haven't got a job," I pointed out. "I'm not really doing anything."
"But you're getting up at 8:30 to search for jobs until 6 every day, aren't you?" she chimed in, knowing full well that that was a lie.
"Boots on the ground," interjected my dad unhelpfully.
That was three years ago. I, in fact, wrote a fuckload of lyrics during the following month, and chords too, to songs which I still sing (if that's the active verb - maybe "sing" is a bit too hopeful) today. And I've been doing so, intermittently, for the best part of fifteen years, since I first picked up a guitar and decided most chords were too difficult to play.
Yesterday evening, I was struck by the fact that I ought to be writing lyrics for a project I do every year, and that I hadn't done so. Or even thought about it at all. I'd just moved all my instruments back into my
Notepad was open, the cursor blinking at me incessantly, waiting for me to write anything more than a few words. I hit random keys, seeing if anything occurred to me.
I had writer's block.
In desperation, I tabbed through several windows that I had open at the time. Back into the IRC chat to see if anything inspired me, as it did last year. Twitter, to catch up on the (lack of) sexy gossip that was happening. Facebook, to avoid all the baby pictures and despair at the lack of lyric-writing. The game I had open, but wasn't really paying much attention to. And the femdom erotic fiction I had open and was trying to edit down.
The femdom erotic fiction I had open and was trying to edit down...
My new song is about editing erotic fiction. Now if only I knew the chords...