Mat For

For Mat, who yesterday, against my better judgement, exhorted me not to give up the wordpress.  

Continuing my series on advices for the modern writer, I shall seek to debunk the traditional belief (promoted by certain unlettered bloggers, historians, and book binders) that writer’s block can be cured by peripatetic means. There is only one cure for writer’s block  and that’s an alfalfa sandwich on whole wheat toast–made by pygmies or a coven of witches; regarding pygmies, any race of diminutives or lilliputians will do: check the farmers’ almanac or get in touch with your nearest anthropological society–don’t call as they never seem to be home.

The real problem with words, from a semantic perspective, is that they must be de rigueur combined in such a way. I think Wittgenstein agrees with me on this important finding. But there’s such a thing as being too careful. One can easily depauperate the language by trying to make it conform to comely though arbitrary rules. I once came upon a garden of great beauty and instinctively took a machete to it in the mistaken belief that I could tame its wild beauty. Naturally I was charged with trespass by some uppity landowner, and the calamitous fortnight spent in the jailhouse, next to a toothless hobo (malodorous and no doubt implicated in some heinous sex crime) and without basic amenities such as an electric razor, proper ventilation, and unfettered access to fresh fruit, carambola and black sapote for example, was truly distasteful.

My lawyer, a former ventriloquist, was already making great strides in extricating me from my unfortunate predicament. An early release was imminent, or so his dummy was telling me. Our basic legal strategy was to confound the sheriff’s deputy with a litany of detailed requests for information. Swimming in a toilet bowl of paperwork, his mind (the little morsel atop his head) would be too busy to notice the telltale signs of a brazen escape attempt involving a front-end loader, an enormous bulldozer, and a giant catapult (rented, I think, from a mafia don). Bruno, that was the dummy’s Christian name, assured me that the plan was solid and that a failed attempt would not unduly prejudice my case.

The toothless man started to dig a tunnel (he had indubitably seen this in a movie). Later, at three miles from the jail, he collapsed, rusted spoon in hand, seventy-five feet under a dairy truck. Meanwhile the stealth operation at the jailhouse was on schedule. Depute Dunderhead was in a stertorous slumber (incredible what bureaucracy can do to the small, underworked mind) when a flamboyant man, Mr. X,  whose first name after our brief introduction sounded like Dae Us, and looking strangely like Peter Lorre, arrived with letters of transit and I was given safe passage to a neighboring island.

Thus ends this week’s lesson on writer’s block. And here are the three blocks you must play with: a beginning, a middle, and an end. And as Mat often says (while shooting a pistol from the oeil-de-boeuf window of his lavatory): the writing is eeezy–it’s the reeder that buggers things up.

Mat’s writing can be found

This just in …

Arbosculpture

And

Timebox

 

 

 

Advertisements

11 Comments

  1. Heh heh, you’re in big trouble now, [Mat flexes fingers, tap tap tap]

    ‘I first met Prospero at the children’s crossing, the giant lolly pop was as ever gripped in his hairy fist … … …’ TBC TBC

    xx

    Liked by 2 people

    • The hobo needs work–too one dimensional. Quick Mat, a softer side… maybe likes fuzzy dice??

      Like

  2. What? Leave WordPress? No, no, no! I enjoy the idea of a lawyer – aka a mouthpiece – as a ventriloquist. So, in summary, the antidote to writer’s block is dig a tunnel out of prison with a teaspoon? .

    Liked by 1 person

    • A rusted teaspoon.

      I run hot and cold with blogging. It’s a genetic defect of mine (one of many).

      I may snap out of it, unless the tunnel collapses–which could be the topic for another installment of advice for writers: think in garish metaphors.

      Sorry to be a wet noodle (another example of thinking in metaphors–but you knew that, Sue.)

      Liked by 2 people

      • I cannot toss you a floatation device, as I myself am currently hanging on by the thinnest of spiderwebby threads, but if you should go, I would miss you terribly….if I’m still around here myself.

        Liked by 1 person

      • Oh. no. What have I done?

        But Cynthia, you communicate so well, on an artistic as well as on a personal level. As for me, I’m an acquired taste, a contumacious hors d’oeuvre in the buffet of life.

        You, on the other hand, provide sustenance. Many depend on you for a weekly dose of poetic reality.

        I think most of us go through phases when we feel we just can’t post a darn thing or deal with the burdens of blogging. Best thing to do is not to panic. Do what feels right.

        Yes, I am contemplating fading away into the banana patch, but I hadn’t bargained on having to give you up, dear Cynthia. In fact that was never my intention–I was myself going to stop posting. That’s all.

        Liked by 1 person

      • I prefer wet noodles to dry. I, too, am up and down on the blogging thing but I fear without out it as an outlet I might not write at all.

        Liked by 1 person

      • So you must not stop.

        Now this interlude.

        Mistah Kurtz—he dead.

        We’ll have to start the One-Foot-Out-The-Wordpress-Door Club. I’ll be the Judd Nelson character
        then there’s you
        Cynthia
        (this is madness)
        Mat (who may already have flown the coop)

        The horror.

        Like

  3. You have planted some kind words where and when they were sorely needed and i thank you, my friend. Blogging becomes burdensome to me periodically, as you say, and I want to throw in the towel. But when I consider some of the fun parts–like verbal sparring with wondrous wordsmiths like you– I stay with it. There is a sense of community, and real connection to a few dear people, as well. I think I could give up posting and just be a commenter for a while. We’ll see. I don’t have a banana patch, but soon the bamboo will burgeon again… ❤

    Liked by 1 person

    • Meanwhile, I’m busy eradicating my bamboo (not a metaphor this time–but sometimes it can be hard to tell!). Sure it was fine when the panda bears (a generous gift from the Chinese embassy) were here (they’ve since moved on to greener pastures–i.e. my neighbor’s rattan furniture) but now I’m left with stumps and heartache.

      I support any decision you make. You know that. But a little break now and again is always good (but don’t blame me if you get death threats from your readers demanding more of your work). It’s a balance, I think. For me equipoise is attained by planting more bananas. More wonderful advice, thinks Cynthia. But I am confident that you will find a way that works for you and your readers, while putting an emphasis on being good to yourself.

      Liked by 1 person


Comments RSS TrackBack Identifier URI

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s