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Broke Wife, Big City
I’m happy… and
it’s just the worst
By Aprill Brandon
Writer’s block.
Block o’ the writer.
Le bloc de scribe.
Blockity block block.
Block is a funny word.
Block.
Block.
Block.
And the word has lost all meaning to me.
Block. It doesn’t even sound like a real word.
Blockblockblockblockblockblock.
I want cheese.
I don’t know if you can tell or not, but I’ve been having a touch of
the writer’s block lately. So please forgive me for my introduction. I
once had an English professor tell me that the only cure for writer’s
block was to just start writing, even if it didn’t make sense, and
eventually the words would start flowing.
And he was right. They are now, indeed, flowing. Right up that creek.
Sans paddles.
A point. I should have a point. Yes, because that is what writing is
for, to get to “the” point. Unless it’s poetry. Or a thinly-veiled
autobiographical novel by a 25-year-old post-grad student who writes on
a typewriter because it’s more “authentic.”
The point is, I’m happy. And that is, obviously, the problem.
See, happy people generally don’t become writers. Not that they can’t
or that there aren’t currently happy people writing. Or even that a
writer can’t be happy from time to time. But there is a reason the
majority of the best ones end up in the gutter dying of tuberculous and
alcoholism and cousin-marrying diseases.
Let’s put it this way, our most optimistic motto comes from Ernest
Hemingway and goes “There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down
at a typewriter and bleed.”
A lot of writing comes from dark places. Even if you fancy yourself a
humor writer, such as a certain SOMEONE I know that is me. In fact, I’d
even be willing to throw out the theory that funny writing often comes
from some of the darkest places of all. I got ten bucks that says Dave
Barry, Erma Bombeck and Mark Twain all sacrificed baby goats and then
drank a gallon of whiskey before putting pen to paper.
And while in general I think I’m a fairly content and optimistic
person, there was always some deep down angst I could draw from before
in my writing, no matter how great my life was going. Daddy issues. An
eating disorder. Betrayals by former boyfriends. Financial instability.
The premature cancelation of “Firefly.” That one time I had to go to
the grocery store the day before Thanksgiving.
Not that I really wrote about those particular things (the grocery
store incident notwithstanding…that one was a three-parter). I just
used my former bitterness and sadness to help me laugh at the world. In
fact, that’s why I wanted to become a humor writer in the first place.
The world is significantly less scary if you can make fun of it.
However, I am currently living through what will be my good ‘ol days.
And I am lucky enough to realize this as I’m going through it. Which is
amazing.
But as a writer, it’s kryptonite. No one wants to read about other
people’s happy lives. We want to read about how messed up other
people’s lives are so we feel better about our own messed up lives. We
weren’t forced kicking and screaming to read “Anna Karenina” in high
school because she ends up happily married with a half dozen adorable,
cherubic babies running happily through her skirts. No! We were forced
to read it so we could all go “well, at least my life ain’t as screwed
up as that chick’s.”
It’s like my stupid, adorable, perfect husband and my stupid, adorable,
perfect son and our stupid, adorable, perfect life together has shot a
ray of pure friggin’ sunshine and rainbows into my very own heart of
darkness. How do you make fun of your life and have sentences dripping
with snark when you wake up every morning like bloody freaking Snow
White, singing as you get dressed and feeling absolutely no desire to
throw your hot coffee on the bird singing outside your window?
I’m happy, dammit.
I guess the only thing to do now is just sit back and enjoy it like the
happy and mature person I apparently am now. (But all while secretly
counting down the days until my baby hits the Terrible Twos and I’ll be
miserable again).
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go think of some trivial subject
that I can pick a fight with my husband over so I have a topic for next
week.
Can’t get enough of Aprill? Can’t wait until next week?
Check out her website at http://aprillbrandon.com/
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