This is my latest trick: write a blog so my brain will remember that it likes to spit out words in a pleasing configuration. See, grey matter, writing is fun. Writing is good. It feels nice. It makes us happy. Some of my other jump-start-writing tricks include organizing my poetry books, cleaning my desk, drinking bourbon, reading sci fi/fantasy, spending my vacation in my pajamas while watching awful british tv shows on netflix, journaling, participating in poetry readings at wine bars, dancing with old people, chatting up the folks who work at the local bookstore, drinking tea, training my cat not to scratch the furniture, and, apparently, forgetting to shower.
Problem is, cajoling doesn't work. That witty little voice in my head is a cynical bastard, but instead of channeling Oscar Wilde I've got drunk Uncle Bert cutting off his nose to spite my face. See, even my metaphors won't cooperate!
I try not to get too impatient. My muse is like a stubborn toddler. Yelling "WRITE A POEM!" will only make it cry and sulk. Giving it candy only makes it spastic and sugar-drunk. Does it need a diaper change? I can't tell. All I smell is the funk of my frustration. Or maybe that's the lack of showering.
Frustration is a good topic to write about, actually, but after a while it just makes me tired. The pathos! If my brain was a roommate I'd have kicked it out on its ass years ago.
To quote my five year old nephew: I'm bored.
To quote my girlfriend: You're whining.