Sometimes, a Blank Page is a Blank Page

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I’m having one of those days with this blog. You writers know exactly what I’m talking about, where there is not one remotely interesting idea in the entire cavern that is my brain.

So I’m going to write about that.

For a creative person, this dearth of ideas is a little unsettling. What if I’ve used up all the interesting thoughts I’ll ever have? What if that thing that rushes like a river sometimes, a calm brook at others, is now a choked trickle, soon to leave a dry river bed that can only be filled by watching reality TV?

Heaven forbid. Though Real Housewives of New York is coming back soon, so at least I’ll have that. I may not have creativity, but I’ll have the Countess, Carole and Ramona. Carole’s mostly the Greek chorus, in case you’re wondering.

Every time this happens, it feels like it’s never happened before. It feels like an end of something I’ve taken for granted, of something so prolific sometimes it requires hurried scribbles on the back of receipts and other random scraps of paper. It requires notebooks at all times.

But not today.

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