It's Not Happening Today

Struggling through some writers block I decided to look back at old material from 2024 and apparently some things never change. Eventually the words come out. They might not "work." In the end you, the reader, decide that. But I eventually found the words and I promise you, real soon, you'll get to read this story that I do, genuinely, love.

There’s a story inside me, one I want to tell and feel obligated to get right. I’ve been thinking about it for weeks. I can feel it. It’s like a pressure in my chest. It wants to break loose. It wants to be on the page. It wants to be read.

But it won’t happen today.

I’ve been thinking about it for two weeks. I’ve been writing it for three days. I’ve written and deleted and written and deleted and I still can’t get it right. I know the emotion I want to invoke. I know how I want it to end. I know how I want you to feel when you’ve finished it. I can’t get the introduction down. I can’t find the right way to frame it. I can’t find the hook.

I took a long ride with a buddy and told him the story from beginning to end, just like I want to write it. He got it. He felt it. I still can’t find the words. Or I guess, more accurately, I can’t get the words out of my head and onto the page. I can hear them. I can recite them over and over in my head but when I open this lap top all the words just disappear.

It sucks. I really wanted to share this with y’all.

It worries me too. All the anger, sadness, and awfulness seems to come easily. I wrote almost ten thousand words about being depressed and pissed off and they flowed like water. I barely had to edit. Now I want to tell a nice story. I want to share a pleasant memory from my past and I just can’t. Why? Why can’t I tell you a pretty story? I’ve had a good week. I’ve been genuinely happy. I’ve felt good and now the words have stopped working and the story won’t come out. Why? I know I can be angry. I know I have a temper. But that’s not who I am.

I’m a nostalgic guy. I’m a romantic guy. I can be funny. I like a good time and a cold beer. I love good country music and driving with the windows down. I want to share that with y'all, give you just a little taste of, if not who I really am, then who I really want to be. I’ve written things that made people cry. I’ve written things that made people mad. I wanted to write something that would make folks smile. Not laugh, mind you, but smile. It’s not a funny story, though I guess it could be… If the fucking words worked.

My mom doesn’t like it when I cuss. In fact it’s funny, every bit of feedback I’ve gotten on my writing praises my “voice.” At the same time, every bit of feedback I’ve gotten from my family followed that praise with, “But you should consider cutting the profanity.” So I gave it a shot. I tried to write without cussing and it’s not working. I don’t know if it’s the lack of cussing. In the end it doesn’t matter. Cussing or not, the words don’t want to work right now.

It won’t happen today.

It might not happen tomorrow.

I’ve been here before. I’ll walk away. I’ll watch “wrasslin.” I might smoke some weed. Story'll still gnaw at me. I’ll walk Jack and take a shower and I’ll figure it out. It'll be so clear in my head but by the time I’m toweled off it’ll be faded away like the steam from the shower, gone. I might not sleep well. I’ll think about it tomorrow during my workout. It’s push day. I’m doing lighter weight and higher reps with shorter breaks between sets, but I assure you I’ll be thinking about this story.

Deep down, I know, the story works and I know y'all are gonna love it when I get it written. At least I hope so. I've already chopped it up and stolen parts and sprinkled them throughout my novel. And yet here I am, even after all that, unable to write out the truth. One day it’ll break out of my chest. One day the words will work, I’ll find the hook, and I’ll find the way to frame it. It'll flow. I’ll be able to make you smile. Maybe there’s another story first. I dunno.

What I do know is I haven’t hit a thousand words with this ramble and I can feel myself losing steam. I don’t want to quit writing. I want to keep putting words on the page. I want to keep grinding, but right now the words just aren't working. So I’m going to have to walk away. I’m going to close my laptop, get a Diet Coke and a snack and jack around on my phone. I'll probably bitch about it on Bluesky.

One day, hopefully soon, I’ll tell this story.

But it won’t happen today.

Sorry.

For Churchill: because you had to put up with me today.
At least you got to hear the story.