Nobody’s Fault But Mine…

“Got a monkey on my back.

Got a monkey on my back.

Gonna change my ways tonight.

Nobody’s fault but mine.”

Same shit, different day – lack of motivation, writer’s block, lazyarseitis…whatever you call it, I haven’t worked on anything new (or old come to that) for a while now. I haven’t even shuffled through my ideas pile or my folders full of 3/4 written novels to see if any of them are worth prodding. The ideas bounce around as they ever do (and always will), and that little voice that never leaves me alone and never shuts up tells me there’s no point pursuing that particular plot, no reason to reread that recent rewrite and redo the rubbish bits, and as for that asinine article? Ahh, fuggedaboutit – no point…

It’s hard to ignore that voice, especially when deep down you know it’s your own voice, and every now and again it makes some pretty damn valid point, just to undermine any doubts you may have had about ignoring the chattering yabbering monster.

So it’s nobody’s fault but mine.

That voice is me. ALL the voices are me. The good, the bad, the why the sweet Michael Caine nipples did you just think that voice. They’re all clamoring for attention, and that’s part of the problem – the noise.

With television and the Internet and the now now now validate me nature of the world it’s hard to find peace and quiet to sit down and create. Again…my fault. I can shut out the world, switch off the router, flush my phone down the loo, and jam some towels under the door to jam out the noise of the rest of the house.

But I’m not – I try for a minute or so and then I get distracted…no, scratch that. I distract myself. Like a lab monkey screeching for it’s next cigarette. I can’t seem to manage without the noise, because when there’s no noise it’s just me and the voices (the one noise I can’t block out easily) and I’ve lived so long in the noise there isn’t much of me outside of it.

I guess the sensible thing to do would be to go cold turkey on the world – ditch the noise and be alone with the chattering yabbering monsters long enough they get bored trying to fuck with me and quiet down for a little while. I mean, when I actually DO get writing they tend to shush their mush (at least for a while) and the more I do that, the more I’ll regain control.

Nobody’s fault but mine – nobody’s fight but mine.

Get of the Internet, Steven, and go write.

Shut up, dickface, and let me write!

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