Lately I've been reading a lot of profound writing, good writing, writing that makes you want to be a better writer. Only it doesn't seem to be helping me become a better writer. Instead, I seem to be floundering in a sea of mediocrity, slipping further and further from a firm shore of successful prose.
I feel "unprofound." I lack profoundness. I am void of anything profound.
I've always been a writer -- even if it was to write "Brian O. is sooo cute!" in my small, brown diary with a lock on it. One would think that over time I would have gotten better. Instead, lately, I feel stagnant, stuck in a rut.
Being sick hasn't helped the situation at all. My energy has been absolutely drained -- emotional energy, physical and mental. Gone. All of it. I am left with slush and ooze and a strong desire to simply lay in bed and cry. Only crying would require energy and I don't have any, so I would probably lay in bed and just stare. Or just lay in bed. Like a slug. I'd like to be a slug right now. That seems like a good profession. Being sluggish is my area of expertise right now.
I'm hoping I can pull myself out of this funk soon and actually settle on something interesting to write about. Life is pretty slow right now, with all of the family being sick. There are things I'd like to write about, but hesitate to because I'm already in enough trouble with some of my family after a grumpy weekend of grunting and glaring.
I'm counting on all of you to write for me. Be profound, or don't be, but just write. And I'll read. Hopefully I can find enough mental power to also comment and say more than, "Wow."
