I have writer's block. I feel like I'm in a Stephen King novel sitting here, staring at an empty page, waiting for a topic to pop in my head that I can run away with. Inspiration is hard to come by these days, imagination even more so. What’s that saying about inspiration and perspiration? Well whatever anti-perspirant I am using must be an equally affective anti-inspirant as well. My imagination? Well that’s just gone.
Let’s explore this a little. Where does imagination go as we grow older? Why is it that the things we imagine are so much more vivid in our youth than they are in adulthood? Why does the mind seem so much more effective at creating gleeful absurdity when it is filtered through a child? In my opinion the answer lies in the –
Oops, there’s the five o’clock whistle. Time to punch out and go home.
I’ll get back to this some other time…