I Used to be Creative...

When I was in high school a friend of mine was in a band. I mean, so was I and everyone else, but this kid was in a legit band and still, 10+ years later, makes money off making music. Anyway, one day he was listening to my shitty band and told us of how he used to enjoy being in a band and having fun just fucking around like we were. He missed the days of playing and not rehearsing. He said music became a chore and no longer felt the same way about it.

I'm about to start my third week of school and right now, in this moment, I no longer enjoy thinking. Not that school has been especially hard or emotionally taxing or any other bullshit people say, but it's been strange. Writing screenplays and treatments is fun. I love writing and I love characters. I love putting myself into people I create and having them lead lives of my quiet desperation. Writing 50 shitty headlines about Chapstick and Ziploc bags only to be reminded that I suck at writing is not fun - it's a chore. Writing 50 headlines this week about fucking Claritin D 24 is agonizing, because I know slightly more than I did two weeks ago but not enough to be any better at it and it's cumbersome to say the least. Am I going to suck this week? Yes. Undoubtedly. Will I get better? Obviously. I just want that to be now. As many of you know, my kind exterior, while not a ruse, does somewhat conceal the fact that I'm as cocky and confident as Lenny Kravitz around a pre-paid prostitute. I hate not being good at things, and not being good at something I love is not so much frustrating as it is literally driving me to drink. Whiskey. Why whiskey? Because that's what real writers drink. And I'm a writer. By trade. Just not by income. Yet. All the greats drank. Kerouac. Balzac. Hemmingway. Hank fucking Moody. Whatever.

I'm blogging today for all you faithful sad little bastards out there who read my blog on the weekend. Carpe diem. Go big.

-M, p, z & shredder