I sat down today with several ideas in mind.
I thought about doing a wee piece about Betty, the Queer of England who is going to drop by sometime this year.
Then I thought about doing a wee piece about our new gubmint, and how it looks like we have just elected a replica of the last shower of wankers.
Then I decided that there was nothing interesting there, and that I would do a little article about the time I was a travelling minstrel, when I used to travel Ireland [and overseas] singing for my supper and pints.
I started to write, but I didn’t like the first sentence so I erased it. I wrote it again, but I didn’t like that either. In fact I tried numerous times but each time I typed, I ended up with a garbled string of words that made even less sense than my usual garbled string of words. Then it struck me what was wrong – my Muse has fucked off somewhere, leaving me in the lurch.
I have taken to giving my Muse a day off on Saturday, in case she wants to go shopping or something, but it looks like she hasn’t come back. I have looked everywhere but there isn’t a sign of her. As result I am unable to write.
It is a bit of a pain. Once again, I have the subject matters but the words just refuse to come. Some would call it writer’s block, but it isn’t that. Writers block means you can’t think what to write next. Lack of Muse means you know what to write next but the fucking words refuse to fall into place.
Seeing as I have nothing for you to read today, I will do something a little different. I will give you a little puzzle to solve while I wait for my Muse to return.
All you have to do is print the image and cut the pieces out. It is worth it. It is a fine photograph of Headrambles Manor.