Okay. I think I figured out my problem.
I’m too straight.
See, I’m reading Me Talk Pretty One Day right now (about half way through the book, actually) and I finished reading On Writing not long before that and I’ve come to the conclusion that I’m too straight.
I don’t drink.
I don’t do drugs.
The worse I’ve ever done is smoke cigarettes…and I don’t even do that well!
I write because I read, and I read because I write. My head gets filled with people who would love to meet my other friends. I could leave many things behind when I picked up and moved to Japan, but my books were not among those numbers.
It fuzzles my brain, though. All these great writers have done stuff I haven’t. I’ve flirted with the idea of alcohol and drugs, but for reasons beyond me, I end up getting really angry about it.
I just can’t fathom the appeal.
Maybe this is why I’ll never be a writer.
Oddly enough, I got two “bumps” on my fic. And here I thought that reading these books would help the writer’s block that’s hindering the flight into the west. (And yes, I’m sending them into the west. Why? Because I can’t escape formula. Yet another reason I can’t write!)
