My Poor Rusting Brains

WRITING IS FRUSTURATING

I think that is probably the bottom line for me at this point. I sit down in front of a book full of beautifully clean, creamy, off-white pages, a pen ready in my hand. But, alas! It's as if a faucet has rusted over from years of unuse, and I can't seem to clean all of the grime out of it. I

have so many thoughts and feeling, inspirations and destinations, it doesn't seem fair that I can't write them all down easily and effortlessly.

I know people, some I'm related to, some I'm glad just to know, that can write like a flood. They sit down, and twenty minutes later BOOM! they've created some poetic, eloquent piece of art that defines their feelings exactly.

See? Now I don't know what to write anymore. I have just collided with a mental block.