But I'll get over it, at least sort of.

Holes, Hoot, Matilda...

This is the character of story to which I aspire as writer. Engaging, charming, memorable. ‘Tis a gift, and you can’t have it if you don’t. Which explains why, at present, I’m stuck at about 1/3 of the way into a work which I recognize to be as flat as everything else I’ve squeezed, forcibly, out of the empty toothpaste tube which is my creative imagination.

But, says Thomas Edison, don’t forget what I said about genius being 1% inspiration and 99% perspiration. And I do not. Forget, that is. But I recognize that the soufflé only poofs if you, in fact, have that all-important 1%. And a darn good percent it must be, at that.

I have searched the mental files, exhaustively, for my personal 1%, and it appears to be one of those things, like athletic coordination, that they left out of my accessory package. Too bad. Because I think I’ve given it a pretty good shot. Really. After grinding out three books, I should at least be showing a spark of magic, and--not only do I feel about as magical as a tin can--I have to adjudge my works to be merely tolerable tales which will not kill you to read. Not the effect I’m going for, yet not surprising given the painful dry scraping my inner storyteller has to do to write a paragraph more.

So it makes me feel really cranky to sit here on this silly stool feeling compelled to inject something creative into the world and having no tools with which to do it. And there, in truth, is where my ability to believe in the narrative of life runs out. It’s not because I have a spouse who needs care, or because other things aren’t always so great. It’s because, although Goethe might have said “Whatever you can do, or dream you can, begin it. Boldness has genius, power and magic in it,” he was mistaken. Or, it only works for some people. I’m not complaining about life in general, because it has many excellent aspects to it. I’m just pointing out that it’s a real nuisance to have to carry around an urge or “calling” (and I use this word with caution, because I don’t think anyone is actually doing the calling) that you’re not equipped to carry out.

So, on to busywork. Tomorrow perhaps, sanding and painting the patched bathroom drywall. Yep.