Welcome to the dark world of a tortured blogger; a world where the bread and butter of a good post are ideas. Ideas that can make or break writing. Thoughts about life that sometimes marinate and simmer for the perfect amount of time; coming out of the oven all steamy and bubbly-good to be hungrily devoured by the masses. But what happens when the Tortured Blogger attempts to whip up something and throws open the fridge only to find a crusty bottle of ketchup, an already-opened Yoo-Hoo and a few slices of moldy cheese? Let’s listen in as our featured blogger, The Maineiac, endures this soul-crushing, hair-ripping, head-banging process of attempting to cook up a delicious idea for a new blog post, shall we?
“Ohhhhh…” THUD. “Ohhhhhhhh….god….” THUD. “Kill me now…” THUD.
The sickening smack of forehead meeting kitchen table cuts through the heavy quiet. “Ohhhh…why…ohhhhh…why?” More thudding. More blinding pain as Blogger’s head attempts to shake a few coherent thoughts loose with every table slam.
“Whatcha doin’?” Blogger’s husband skips into the kitchen oozing with the serenity that only comes from being a Non-Blogger.
“I am dying,” Blogger moans. “Dying, I tell you!” she yells.
Hanging her head, she whispers, “It’s all over. I am finished. I have nothing left to give.” A tear slips out of the corner of her eye. “Nothing!” she yells again as her husband jumps. She sniffs sadly and lowers her voice back to normal, “I am empty, I will never ever ever have another idea for a post again. It’s all gone. Forever. I have–”
Blogger hesitates to peer over at husband as he nonchalantly cracks open a ginger ale. He hops up onto the counter and swings his legs.
“Oh, really?” he remarks and gulps some soda, gazing off into the distance with all the concern of someone watching paint dry. Paint drying would get more of a reaction out of Non-Blogger. “Sounds bad,” he rubs his eyes and yawns.
“Uh oh, what did I say now?” his mouth drops open.
“You have no clue what it’s like to not be able to write. I have no ideas at all. Nothing. The well has run dry. The shopping cart has been emptied. The mine has been….uh…mined. It’s hopeless!” Blogger lays weary idea-less head down on top of her notebook, once overflowing with post ideas. The wire binder digs into her cheek as tears spill onto the paper, smudging the scrawled words at the top of the page: “NEW BLOG IDEAS!!”
“Well,” Non-Blogger walks over to peer at the notebook. “What’ve you got so far? Let’s see… ‘EW OG AS’ What’s that mean? I can’t read it. Ew Og… Ass? Honey, let’s start with not writing any more posts about asses in general. That might help you.”
Blogger raises her weary head, her matted hair spilling over her reddened eyes, the spiral binder imprint in cruel zigzags across her drool-stained cheek. She narrows her eyes at Non-Blogger. “You’re not helping me.”
He sits down beside her and suddenly raises one finger in the air. “Ooh! I can help you! How hard can it be to come up with ideas, right? It’s easy!”
Blogger raises another finger in the air and smirks.
“Okay, I’ve got it!” he snaps his fingers. “How about…our kids! Write about them!”
“Ugh. No no no no no. Been there, done that. I need something fresh and new to write about.”
“I don’t cook, hello?”
“Pizza?” he grins.
“Is there any left in the fridge? All this thinking is making me hungry.”
“Are you going to help me or what?” Blogger cries.
“Don’t even go there.”
“Write about this!” he yells, slamming his hand down on the table.
“What? Are you high?”
“Last I checked, no.”
“Hmm…maybe I can write about this. But you have to know it’s a well-known secret in the blogging world that all of us have writer’s block from time to time so we are doomed to sometimes write about the fact that we can’t write. Other writers get it. They understand. They sympathize. Except the Good Greatsby. He writes constantly. That guy is not from this earth.”
“So did I help you?”
“And we have some pizza left?”
“Get it yourself. I’ve got to go jot this crap down before I forget it.”