Writer's Block

I am tentative to call myself a 'writer' because it implies that I believe that the garbage I post on this blog amounts to something resembling professionalism. Nevertheless, with petty insecurities about being viewed as egotistical aside, I think I have some kind of 'writer's block'.

Why has this occurred? I have several theories:

1. I have problems with commiting to one idea or style of expression for an extended period of time. This is why I will never write a novel or a screenplay - there's no way I could stick to one idea for more than a few days at a time and suspend my disbelief in the fact that what i'm writing is racoon-faeces and basically just not worth the time or effort. Blogging quells this problem to an extent as I am able to change style and content each time I post but I still expect that there are some remnants of this issue which extend to the blogging universe.

2. Perhaps nothing is really annoying me at the moment. When Jerry made a remark about a button and George replied 'you've said that before' in the final ever episode of Seinfeld, the implication was that his muse for material had disappeared or dried up and the show had to cease as a result. Perhaps something similar has happened here. A large part of my material arises from a few exaggerated quibbles with life. Maybe I have no quibbles anymore? Is quibble a word?

3. Perhaps a lack of time is a problem. I am currently entering the end of a uni semester, reviewing for street press, busy making music with two bands, writing a sitcom and playing a hell of a lot of Tiger Woods 2004. Oh my god! I've got such an interesting life. You must all think i'm so cool. I'm a wanker.

4. I have no penis. Perhaps having no penis is stopping me from being a man and standing up to my duties as an extremely popular blogger. No penis.

Give me your input. I value it to an extent.