Any advice about writing my first music review? Because I might be, soon, and though my big mouth got me into it, I'm not sure I can really do it. I'm just not in a position not to take assignments.

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Any advice about writing my first music review? Because I might be, soon, and though my big mouth got me into it, I'm not sure I can really do it. I'm just not in a position not to take assignments.

The only advice I've got is that you should totally cross-post this with Music (unless you have already), 'cause there are a couple of music-writerly folks there who come in here rarely to never.

Also, assignments are good! Congrats!

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Not yet. I totally don't feel cool enough to come in there.

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Nobody starts out cool. First you pretend you're cool by carefully studying the habits of the Truly Cool, then you become Cool by doing things that only cool people do, and later after you're SO Very Cool, you can tell about how you really weren't cool when you started out, you were just ballsing your way through it, which is, of course, Very Cool.

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I really need to take my brain out and slap it around some. I've got two stories requested, and all my brain is doing is dithering. I just caught myself surfing the Writer's Digest site looking at their bookstore, falling into the trap that "there's a book out there that will tell me how to do this." I do know this shit already! I read stories I've written, and part of me can't believe that I created that, part of me says, "Huh, well, that's a fluke if ever I saw it." I read comments on other pieces to try and convince myself that it's talent/skill/a gift no one's going to take away, but Idiot Jed locks down when I open the screen.

I wonder if it's a case of not being able to write at home. Too many distractions, too many stressors. Work is the place where I'm powerful, in control, competent.

Words of encouragement aren't going to do it. Somebody smack me/my muse (metaphorically, please! Though if you want to come visit personally, welcome!) in the head and say, "Enough with the self-pity, write, already."

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Gar's patented cure for writers block:. You feel blocked on writing a really good story. OK, so go on write something regardless of quality. Pick the first plot that comes to you, make up some characters that can drive the story, and write the thing from beginning to end. When you are done look at the result, and conclude one of two things:

A) this is garbage, unfixable. Figure out exactly what went wrong, and rewrite the same story, but do it right, differnet characters, different style different world building (AKA "setting"). If there is something salvageable salvage, but pretty much start over from scratch.

B) Decide , "Hey this isn't bad - it just needs some repair" and then edit the hell out of it, rewriting only those parts that need rewriting.

Oh and about that patent. Never said it was patented by me.

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ONE WORD, AN ESCAPE, NEVER! timothy cox

if only there was a word

one word for all i feel

the one word to erase it all

like she wants

like i want it to come slow ever so slow

and as it comes let it be sudden

and invisible to all that i feel

just one touch,

one touch and she'll heal

but i will never

so all is lost forever

the last take

if only it could

make me feel so real

no more sidelines

not another deal

just needs to be right

for both in the light

as the curtains are drawn

and the set come crashing

crashing into a heavy fall

hoping to help us all

nothing will ever help

ever stop

ever heal

for the pain that encircles my head

not in the form of a halo

but of heat waves of confusion

my brain exploding soon

but nothing will ever help

and as the feeling of nothingness

and of life being nothingness begins to slow

a new feeling sets in and i know it will only get worse

there is but one hope of a future

beyond what just came and passed

and it is that it might come again

and let it be that when it may return

it returns not for me

but for the lost soul who cant find her future

and doesnt want it

and therefore doesnt deserve it

pity on those who want to end the suffering

but pity more on those who want to go back in time

for doing so will only make them have to relive the

very moment they must escape

in life

in death

in anything that matters and all that doesn't

there is no escape

no pain no ending to anything

including this never-ending poem that wakes and

sleeps inside of me from day to day

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AN EDITED VERSION OF THIS NEXT POEM IS BEING PUBLISHED BY POETRY.COM

The Curse

When the neighborhood forgets its best,

And brings out all its worst,

He lets it out,

With just one shout,

And falls into the curse.

It takes him places he couldn't dream,

It takes him back and forth.

He goes to Hell,

Lives in a cell,

And learns of what he's worth.

Just one week in Hell is all it takes,

To bring out this kid's hate.

For his mother,

For her brother,

Everyone in the state.

Then eight hours for seven more days,

As the end of the walk.

He goes to school.

He acts all cool.

Then kids begin to talk.

Almost two years more and still on pills.

Taking them now and then.

He's feeling fine,

Showing no sign,

Of needing medicine.

Until the woman who begot him,

Rips his support away.

His loving aunt,

Who now he can't,

Talk to on a bad day.

Inside himself is three months of pain.

Wanting to restore life,

Maybe to kill,

He pops a pill

And cuts his wrist by knife.

At just a single moment's notice,

She's given back to him.

Nothing is right.

Can't be that night.

When it is all so dim.

So the curse shall always stay with him.

It will define the boy.

It will remain.

He'll be insane.

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I really need to take my brain out and slap it around some. I've got two stories requested, and all my brain is doing is dithering.

Connie, go write. Just write, and don't worry about if it's any good (tho' I'm sure it will be). Dithering does nothing but paralyze you and keep you from writing. So says the lady finally tackling the 2nd draft of her book proposal. Go, shoo! Write!

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Not bad, newbie. Yeah, Connie, you write good fanfics. And even the worst story is better than the best bomb. Or so I tell myself when I'm all "You're boring, played out and have stupid hair." about myself.

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