Never Say This

March 21, 2012 § 3 Comments

Remember Clyde, the writer’s brain? A word of warning – keep him safe from metaphors.  Metaphors are like any other act of nature.  They can be beautiful or tremendously destructive.

A metaphor can spook Clyde for no reason.

It is on behalf of Clyde that I warn you, friends, to never ever say the word, “Writer’s B—-.”  That is a bad, bad word.  And no, the word is not Writer’s Bitch.  Bitches you can deal with.

One time, when my mother was a girl, she was trapped by two bitches outside the coal bin at her school. One of them was tiny and had springy hair. The other was big. My mother was outnumbered, so she grabbed the tiny bitch by her springy hair, swung her around and clobbered the big bitch with her own best friend. Both bitches ran off crying.

My mother was a honey badger from day one. But I digress.

Back to that word, “Writer’s B—-.”  What makes it so damaging is what it is made of.  Something heavy, square, impenetrable. Not good for Clyde.  Not good for you.  Not good for progress.

When you name something, you give it power.  When you give it an image, more power.  Heft and weight and mass, more power.  So either don’t name it or acknowledge it.  Or name it something easily penetrable.

Writer’s Air.  Writer’s Powder.  Writer’s Cloud.  Or even Writer’s Zombie, because everyone knows you can put your hand right through a zombie.

Not that that’s out of the way, give Clyde a metaphor he can use.  Give Clyde himself.  A beautiful black powerful racehorse with a heart as big as Secretariat’s, and a stride as long as Barbaro’s.  Swift, mighty, ferocious, unstoppable.

Take him down to the beach and and whisper into his ear, Clyde, there is no such thing as Writer’s B—-. It is nothing but a trick of the light.  What’s real is you, magnificent you.  Now run, Clyde. Run.

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§ 3 Responses to Never Say This

  • Mark Olmsted says:

    However, I would say there is something called “Writer’s Blah.” That day when the coffee tastes stale, your sheets look particularly faded, and birds outside your wind give you bored and sarcastic looks.
    The treatment for this is to write a letter–not an email–to an old friend, preferably in a foreign country. Then go down to the corner and mail it, buying a lottery ticket before you head back. Then promise someone you love half of the winnings.

  • Gayla Collins says:

    Writer’s brain has never gotten me anywhere when I do write….writer’s imagination gives me the wings to fly as high or low as I want to.’

    Loved this blog. Beautiful!

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