[lordshadowisle]

First blood is drawn!

Spoiler for Writer's Block is for Perverts:

Writer's Block is for Perverts

Oh stop. Stop thinking that with your impure mind. It is disgusting. And you wonder why you don’t have a significant other. Look at what you’re doing.

I'm here by authority of the universal arbiters of style, sense, and purity. Almost divine, really. I’m here to stop you. Here’s what would happen if I don’t: you'll continue your random deviations, decide that it’s a good idea to share, then start writing, and click POST. But here are the facts: Not everyone enjoys what you are putting to ink. In fact, nobody likes reading about the sexual adventures of other unattractive people. It is a style-crime! So I have to stop you, even if I have to excise every single impure thought from the recesses of your mind before it gets transmitted.

Ah, him! Of course you’re not capable of writing like him, don’t even try. Your work is NOT high literature; you just feel high writing it. But here’s a secret- that guy you compared yourself to? It was a job I did a long way back, but he had a particularly filthy brain. Imagine all the horrendous pairings possible between appendage and orifice, and double that. And he far surpassed that stage very early on, though in hindsight that’s what you expect from someone with his name at least- to vibrate some spear! And he would have put down all that obscenity to ink, had I not stopped him! It wasn’t easy trying to blank out his perverse cognitions; apparently he was particularly productive in manner of thought. It turned out well for him in the end, though; he had a sufficient few clean ideas left over to gain some small fame in literary circles thereafter.

I’m not saying it’s wrong to think about sex. It’s not unnatural. What the High One feels is the problem is universal reading and writing. Ok, that’s not wrong in itself too. But combine the two and wham! Bad idea. If I didn’t do anything, your bookstores would be full of porn. Your internet would be a vast, interconnected network containing nothing but bawdy material. Oh well it already is, but those are multimedia, not ye-old-media. I can’t do everything.

That’s not counted. It’s not! Books containing homoerotic visual depictions of males with a smattering of text? That’s just DRAWINGS with text. DRAWINGS. Art counts under a different scheme, even if it’s drawn by a cabal of rotten girls with eccentric tastes. How do you expect me to edit, anyway? I can wipe words and paragraphs, but how do I blank out a drawing? Stroke by stroke?

Oh that’s what you say. Self-control, you say. I’ve seen you, I’ve seen how you act. When you think nobody’s looking you hold down Crtl-Shift-P and do things. You think you’ve got it under control, but your mind will wander and focus on exactly the wrong things to write. There’s no other way about it. I’ll rather be safe than sorry. Better to remove every possible seed of mischief than to take the risk. Too bad if you feel a bit dim at the end of the day, though. It must be terrible to suddenly grasp a sense of the muse, and yet be utterly unable to write when you finally reach the nearest writing implement.

Well, you won’t remember. It’s not the first time we had this conversation anyway. You’ll only feel a sudden blan-