Roamin’ Gnomials has been diagnosed with a disease, though not the one you always suspected that it had. Roamin’ Gnomials caught an unhealthy dose of Blank Page Disease. Do you know of it?
Blank Page Disease is what bloggers get when we want to write, need to write, long to write, but like chronic constipation, just can’t force it out. Here’s what it looks like:
I caught the disease sometime after Christmas, and I’ve been pathetic ever since.
Cards and letters have been pouring in, and my phone was dinging so frequently with new text messages from distraught readers that I finally had to turn it off. One day, a squadron of gnomes arrived at my house and started throwing books from my shelves as of way of expressing their discontent.
It’s not that I didn’t have ideas. I had lots of ’em, but couldn’t get the words onto the page. When a Native Texan blogger can’t write about chicken-fried steak, you know it’s serious!
Yes, I wanted to write about this artery-clogging Texas mainstay, but the thought didn’t occur to me until the meal was half cooked, so there was no way I could write about the meat, the dipping, the dredging, the frying and the gravy-making without proper illustrations. Great idea, bad execution. I was left staring at the Blank Page.
Ideas, there were plenty!
I thought to write about the Employment Experience, and how some of my former bosses were total dicks, others were evil clowns, and a precious few were kinda okay. But thanks to Blank Page Disease, I couldn’t figure out a way to write it so that the right people wouldn’t be offended for the wrong reasons, so in the end, I decided to hell with ’em all and I’d just go watch television.
I thought to bestow another Roamin’ Gnomials Hidden Gem Award, but with so many good blogs to choose from, it just made my own writing look more pathetic. I didn’t know what to do, and staring at the Blank Page just made me so damned depressed.
I thought to write another in my Batshit Crazy series, but when the thing that was driving me batshit crazy was my inability to write, how then could I write it? It’s like trying to look up a word in the dictionary when you have no idea how it’s spelled. Blank Page Disease wins again!
It’s not that I didn’t want to write, or didn’t know that I NEEDED to write. It’s that I couldn’t write, because there was a total disconnect between my brain and my typing fingers, and it sucked!
Words that once flowed past my fingers and onto my screen like two six packs of beer and eleven raw oysters once flowed past my lips and onto Bourbon Street, had become lost in a pink haze on the brain, trapped like that solitary bivalve from the original even dozen, left swimming alone on a Pepto-Bismol sea.
Recovery from Blank Page Disease is slow and can be worse than the disease itself, as the previous paragraph clearly illustrates. No one can help, and survivors must claw their way back alone. I am fighting it, one agonizing word at a time. Today, the page is no longer blank. Soon, maybe some of the words will make sense.