A simply sinful amount of time has passed since I updated this blog. I realized this a few days ago, and have wasted a lot of time since then coming up with a list of excuses as to why. Here are a few of the better ones, but only one of them is actually true.
- I twisted my ankle and it brought on flashbacks to the time I broke my right pinkie and my fractured my left elbow, which prevented me from writing for over two months.
- Frodo asked me to carry the ring for the last few legs of the journey, and Mordor doesn’t have wi-fi ’cause Sauron thinks it would lower Orc productivity.
- It was my birthday on the 15th and no one has to write on or around their birthday. (They can also cry if they want to, but only if they throw themselves a party.)
- I’ve been stockpiling inspiration in the form of numerous Pinterest boards.
- I have holographic earrings that allow me to double as a pink-haired rock star, and a rival band smashed my laptop with their electric guitars during a music video montage.
- My editor at my writing day job has been sending me to press screenings for movies all over LA, and now I’ve started receiving books to read and review.
- Somehow my name got stuck in a jar and chosen for the 74th annual Hunger Games. I tried to volunteer my brother in my place, but they saw through my ruse.
As you can probably tell, the truth is that I’m Jem.
All kidding aside, yes, my day job has taken on new and fabulous aspects lately, but the only valid excuse I can come up with is that I’ve had an attack of the Inadequates.
You know the Inadequates. They’re the horrible little people who live in the heads of anyone who does anything creative for a living. The Inadequates tell them they are not good enough, not clever enough, not talented enough…and that Stephenie Meyers is just going to write the same book in a few years and make a hell of a lot more money off the idea.
They’re like the Borrowers except you hope that the cat actually catches them and leaves them dead on your doorstep.
Every writer has an Inadequate. The smart ones have learned how to ignore him, distract him or kill him off in a blaze of glory. For the past couple of months, all I’ve done is feed mine cheez balls and let him watch Saved by the Bell on Netflix.
So, that is why I haven’t updated this writing blog. Because I haven’t actually been writing all that much.
In the immortal words of the dude in high school who used to ask me to write his theology papers, “My bad.”
In the immortal words of myself when he mysteriously ended up with a D-, “I’ll try harder next time.”