I hate you, writing. I mean I love you and I need you and I’m not entirely sure what or where I’d be without you. But some days, like today, I hate you and I want you to die.

I have chosen to live my life with you, everyday, but in moments of clarity I understand that the choice was never really mine. It was a hostile takeover. A coup d’etat. You barged in and said, “I’m calling the shots here, motherfucker.” And though you have given me more than I could have had without you, there are some days, like today, when I want nothing more than to wipe you out.

I have something to say. I have a story I want to tell. I want to stick a giant shovel into my soul, unearth the pain and power and promise within myself, and put it all on paper so that I can learn about myself and possibly help others identify those same feelings within themselves. But you won’t let me. You’ve decided you don’t want to get out of my way today. You’ve thrown up smoke screens and roadblocks and other indescribable obstacles that have left me here wallowing in frustration, impotent even to know where I can begin.

We’ve had great moments together, writing. Remember the days when you would pull me to your breast and comfort me? Remember that? I could sit and write for hours. Thousands of words. I felt whole on those days. I felt you lifting me up and carrying me to the places I needed to go—to the corners of my mind where I could discover who I am, what drove me, where I’d been hurt. I got clarity. I got resolution. I got a sense of who I might become.

But today, and on many recent days, you’re a stubborn little ass. Why are you making this so hard for me?  Are we not yet beyond this tough love shit? Can you not just be here when I need you and take your leave when I don’t? I want to punch you in your smug face. I want you to know the pain I feel in your absence. But then what? Then you’d be dead and you’d never come back and I’d be less. Less happy. Less fulfilled. Less everything.

I’m your fucking slave. You’re a drug I can’t quit. The highs are so high, but the lows are unbearable. So do me a favor, writing. Meet me here tomorrow. Meet me on the blank page and prove to me that I still have you. Or don’t. Your call. I’ll wait for you.

Comments

Oh man you hit the nail on the head!

I really don't want to get involved here but I might hate it even more than you.

After reading the above it sounds to me like writing showed up a day early.

Heck yes!

Brilliant post! You definitely know how to tackle a case of writer's block head-on. I love this and I'm glad your break is over!

Dear Danny,
What can I say? I'm moody. You know I'm totally committed to you, but sometimes I just have to take off for a weekend in Vegas once in a while. I'll be back soon, don't worry. There's leftovers in the fridge.
Sincerely,
Writing

Does writing ever answer back? Because THAT would be fucked up.

Welcome to my world, my friend. Stupid words... they work so well in my head, but so poorly on paper (is Microsoft Word 'paper'?). I figure I'll just wait until they invent telepathy. Surely someone is working on that right? RIGHT?!?!

sigh...

Pretty much what Anne LaMott wrote about writing too....it ain't easy, but oh so gratifying.

Oh, I do believe writing is a two-timing, backstabbing bitch, but she's heaven when she's yours, no?

Don't worry. You still wear the pants in this relationship.

So true. So true...glad to hear I'm not the only one with a love/hate writing relationship!

Oh a-to-the-men.

Word.

I'm a fan of punching my writing in the face until it concedes to my will. That, or just bribing it with promises of Hawaiian vacations.

This is how I feel 6 days out of 7.

I think it'd be good for you to just turn off comments. Writing for yourself and not an audience is different. Not knowing our thoughts might make your writing your own again. Just a comment!

Tough day.

Thanks for the new post. funny as always. When i first found your site i spent *days* reading everything you had written. Currently trying to find your book in the UK. Love your stuff. Just keep on.
xo
starle

Dude. I'm no Hemingway but I'm pretty sure it's poop d’etat.

I'm with Angella. That was some pretty good writing. Although, I'm not a writer so my opinion doesn't really count. :)

It's been several days. Looks like writing has decided to kick you to the curb permanently. It is far, far better to have loved and lost than never to have loved before.

Hi Danny,

Awesome post. I read every word you write. I feel like I am where you were several years ago when you were starting out with your blog. And because I admire you and your writing so much, cna I be so bold as to ask you for an enormous favor? Even though you express a lot of self doubt and frustration, in my mind you're a bigtime, successful, published author, full-on celebrity.
I know if I want to make it as a blogger and writer, what I really have to do is write. So I'm committing to posting once a week. There. I said it. Out loud. Sort of.
If I do that, would you be willing to maybe help me out by reading or commenting on my blog, or even sharing my link on your link page or in a post? (I mean, you know, if you don't think it sucks) I know if you encourged your fans to check me out, it would go a long way.

Here's the link to my blog: http://erinswriting.blogspot.com/

It would mean a ton to me. I'm a huge fan and would be eternally indebted.

Keep it up. I love your stuff. Thanks!

P.S. Sorry this comment is so all about me... next one is all about you, 'K?

Lol. Tell me about it. Dont you just hate it when writing refuses to be your opium when it always got you so high before?

It's been almost a week - any better? I check every day.

There's a flint, a spark, secreted into the crevice between writing and not-writing. Like all of my favorite video games (okay, yes, they may mostly, FINE, ALL have been umbrella'd beneath the "king's quest" moniker, so they were adventure games, I'm a fucking nerd from the sixth grade typing madly on my Radio Shack special, right now), it takes a lot of wandering back and forth across that divide to strike the flint just so.

Or at least that's what I tell myself prior to sitting down and opening the window that requires words.

After that, it's all sort of disaster x force + Six Flags.

(I like referencing my childhood. What.)

Well put.

My sense of humor has always helped me get through the trials and tribs of life as a writer. I'm hoping it will continue to carry me through the trials and tribs of life as a father.

Now that I've discovered your blog, I'll be tuning in for advice, some laughs, and a shoulder to cry on.

After all, I still two months away from actually having a baby, and he's already claiming my sanity!

www.dadandburied.com

Genius. Genius. Genius.