 |
|||||||
|
By RJ Warner, Section Site related
Writer's block. It comes to anyone and everyone who puts pen to paper, ink to printer or tap to key. I'm sure Rick Reilly gets it. Shakespeare had it (Oh, ideas, wherefore the frick art thou?). I can picture a caveman sitting on the wheel he just invented (still wasn't sure what exactly it was for), staring blankly at the wall, chisel in hand, wondering what the hell kind of shapes to scratch into the rock for his weekly "Ugh's Take" feature. He wishes he had just stuck to the weather reports. Even our esteemed Featured Writers get infected with a case now and then, as Trevor Freeman admitted in his recent column. All he was able to do was get one lead out per subject and wala...his notes column. Well, to me, Trevor's paragraphs look like Tolstoy because I can't even get a decent subject out of my burnt out, going-bald-from-scratching head.
What? You want me to talk about it? Ok, I will if you insist. Writer's block to me is more than spending four hours in front of my screen with nary a good topic. I take it with me wherever I go. Let's see, I'll say out loud. How about Barry Bonds? Ok, what can I write about Bonds that would be different than the 5,265, 232, 784, 634 things that have already been written about him? Scratch that. Barry Bonds stories could only be counted by the national debt clock that continually rolls. I get away from the computer. Maybe going for a walk with the dogs (they have been patiently waiting this out for the last 46 days) will help me clear the noggin. We go outside and I notice they both squat at the same time. "Good dogs go together!" I fuss over them with pride. Hmm, it pops in my head, Shaq and Wade go together, like good dogs! There we go, now we're rolling. Two seconds pass and rational thought returns. That's awful. The block continues. Maybe by taking the laptop down to Starbucks, having one of those Caffiene Bomb Lattes and sitting there and looking smart will get the ol' creative juices flowing. Instead, I'm looking at everything but the screen: the espresso machine humming, the pretty girl on her cell phone, the hustle and bustle of the customers, the creative ways the employees can carry an order of seventy scalding hot drinks in one hand and three baker's dozens of lemon scones in the other; all the while politely deflecting the criticism of the overstuffed snob whose Macciato is "too tart." This is too fast paced... Wait! Fast paced. Creative! Like the Phoenix Suns or Buffalo Sabres. I got it! No, I don't "got it," nor will I ever seem to get it. Keep trying. Also, I realize that Ricky Manning Jr. could come in at any time and bludgeon me to death with my own technology, so I better scram. I take this block to work with me. I'm ten minutes late because I had to check it in with security. Later, my boss passes me by, wearing the ugliest tie in the history of the workforce: a dollar bill pattern. Then it hits me like a Mayweather punch: My boss wearing that tie was a horrible executive decision, much like Ken Hitchcock of the Flyers staying with goalie Robert Esche through the entire Buffalo series. I can squeeze 700 or so words out of that, right? Right? Sadly, the 26 I just wrote end up being all she wrote on that one. I don't think a 26 word article would be accepted by the judges. The blog block continues. I've now spent the last 72 hours in the same lucky Pitt t-shirt that I wore when I wrote a good NCAA tourney article. Nope, still nothing. Lousy time for the brain to go on sabbatical. Pitt lost in the second round anyway, and not one of those picks came close to sniffing the Final Four. I finished dead last in the pool. If they had last place in this contest... By now, I'm looking like Roy McAvoy in Tin Cup when he got a case of the shanks and was wearing all that junk. Aha! Maybe an article about athletes and their silly superstitions. I hear a judges' voice quickly boom in my head: "Referencing Kevin Costner movies in any way, shape or form will get you banned until NGS XLI" (it is now currently on II). I squash it. Well, looks like I'm tapped. Burnout's a bitch. I guess it's time to pack my blog and move back to mom's house, which I'll have to do if I don't win this contest and the money that will keep me from getting evicted from my house along with my sick dogs who need two life-saving operations. Each. That is, unless you have any ideas for me. Do you have any ideas? DO YOU??!
I should have stuck with the weather reports. Story writing contestLog in or create an account to vote for this story!
All trademarks and copyrights are owned by their respective leagues and associations. The Rest © Sportscolumn.com / Cow Hollow Media, LLC. Please read our Terms of Service. Sportscolumn.com is powered by Scoop.
|
|
||||||
