Writer's Block

So I tried writing this post earlier, twice actually, and didn’t get very far. Everything I’d written I just erased – it was uninspired drivel and I can admit it. Not a great deal has happened since I was near death with the stomach flu, in truth nearly nothing, so what to write about? There’s only so many posts I can publish about how wonderfully blue the sky is and what excellent weather we’re having and how I’m enjoying it immensely from a lawn chair under a tree since I’ve got no job and therefore loads of spare time to lounge about. Sickening, isn’t it?

Part of the trouble is my lack of face time with this machine. My husband is so deep into photography and everything about it that he rarely comes up for air. If he’s not in this chair doing something photo-ish then we’re out shooting - you can see my predicament. I explained to him very nicely the other day that I am very nearly useless as his secretary/assistant/PR person/deadline coach without computer access. Also, this blog is suffering and how am I supposed to expose everyone on the planet to the “Felix Phenomenon” without it. I think he got the point because as we speak (or I write, whichever sounds better to you) he’s next door discussing with our tech guy how to make the other computer in this house (a dinosaur generally used for excessive solitaire playing by my mom-in-law’s boyfriend/fiancé) into a functional specimen, capable of Internet access and hopefully networking. Then I won’t have any excuses for neglecting this blog besides the one rapidly becoming my favorite: nothing’s happening.

We recently went to a Scottish Ceilidh – don’t worry, I don’t know how to say it either – which was a tribute to Robert Burns, I guy I’d never heard of before. My girlfriend, Beth told us about it, went with us, and was delighted. I, unfortunately, was rather uninspired, hence the trouble with the post. This is all we’ve really done since I recovered, aside from filing our taxes, and it just wasn’t what I expected. I misheard, misunderstood, or blatantly assumed it was Celtic dancing and went in thinking clogging, like Riverdance. What I got was a lot of jumping in knee-high socks, and moving the arms, either together or individually, from one’s side to over the head and back again. There were also two numbers performed by the “wee dancers” which produced the loudest applause and the melting heart ‘ahhs’ of parents and people succumbing to the cuteness of little girls in kilts; those of you who know me know I am immune to this effect, so I was watching the actual dancing which left much to be desired. The only local bagpipe band, Desert Skye Pipes and Drums, and a fiddle player named Edward Scott Pearlman performed the best parts of the show. The best dancer was a girl named Kimberlee Couper; according to her bio she’s won a ridiculous number of awards for her skills at Highland dancing and ballet beginning at age 12, and is originally from Dumbarton, Scotland. Her amazing calf muscles and how strong her ankles must be to maintain all that jumping mesmerized me. I was winded for her. In truth, I think I was too preoccupied with the fish n chips I’d be having for a late supper as soon as the show was over. The Crown and Anchor Pub was a block over from the library and they have some of the best fish n chips in town (all you can eat on Monday nights!). I’d been salivating all day and was positively starving by intermission. Maybe they didn’t get a fair shake from me…

I finished another book today. The excessive reading goes hand-in-hand with the excessive lounging I mentioned earlier. I’m currently stuck on Clive Cussler novels, especially the Dirk Pitt adventures. The lead character is a man’s man and a ladies man – you can’t not love him. He’s a stud, a patriot, an adventurer, and a loyal friend; the man all women are drawn to but can never possess. He’s damn near too perfect. I’m also getting back into Neil Gaiman. Good Omens rocked my world. Unfortunately, the closest library only carries two of his book, neither of which I’ve read, one of which is waiting for me and my chair under the tree. I checked out his site and the live reading of the first chapter of his newest book, The Graveyard Book. I have to get it now. The man fascinates me and makes me laugh. If I’d had any sense of self at 17, I would have become a journalist and writer instead of a flunky engineering student, in a class of 8 with one other girl who took “control freak” to a whole new level. Hindsight and all that.