Creativity fled

Where’s it gone? Have you see in? I had it here. [checks pockets] Where has my creativity gone? Bollocks. I know I had it. If you’ve got it, please, send it back. No questions asked. I could blame Orkut. It might even be true. Adam Rifkin told me the other day that without jail, he’d […]

Where’s it gone? Have you see in? I had it here. [checks pockets]

Where has my creativity gone?

Bollocks. I know I had it. If you’ve got it, please, send it back. No questions asked.

I could blame Orkut. It might even be true. Adam Rifkin told me the other day that without jail, he’d live there on orkut fourteen hours a day.

It’s not the time though. I’m not spending a lotta hours. I’m spending a lotta brain power. It’s like being at a party with all my funniest friends, and we’re all in a vague competition to keep the level of cleverness very very high. When we’re all hitting together, riffing on each other, trading jabs, working like we’ve rehearsed a routine, it’s a thing of beauty. Orkut’s like that, sometimes the jokes are working and sometimes they’re not but either way the brain’s running, the attention tightly focused. And I walk away from the computer fogged like I’ve been playing a video game.

It’s reached the point where it’s work or orkut and then brain’s empty; I must re-fill it with beer, and then sleep.

Fortunately, three writer friends recently unintentionally pimp-slapped me about it (well, one did it on purpose, thanks Fred), one by writing again after a layoff (can’t wait to see when it’s done, baby), one by asking me to help edit a piece, and one just by saying (thanks fred) ‘get fucking writing again.’

All right, fine, fine, I gotcha. At least I’m doing this. I can’t promise on the other stuff, but I’m looking at my stack of stories started and thinking, one of these has to be pay dirt, which one is it?

Ok. So next time I get the orkut urge I’ll try to work on something else instead. I don’t know it’ll work but, really. I will try.

So I should talk about the camping trip I chaperoned on last week – yeah, they put me in charge of ten year olds. The fools. Or I could talk about My Lunch with Adam Rifkin but he made us sign an NDA. So instead let me just say – ah fuck it, I got nothing, is it time to go to fiji yet?


Now Playing: Larks’ Tongues In Aspic, Part Two from the album The Great Deceiver – Things Are Not As They Seem … by King Crimson


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