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  • I wrote this blog post a few years ago when I was struggling with writer's block:

    "You may have noticed I have not posted for a while; I have had writer's block. Dutifully, I have put pen to paper (or more often fingers to keyboard) and started to write, but I was just going through the motions. Words are written, to be sure, but in my head it sounds like "blah, blah, blah, blah, blah and clearly blah".

    I have always known I am not and never will be a prolific writer. I labor too much over my words, trying to coax a certain feel out of them and most times I have to settle for close but not quite. Generally when I feel real inspiration, an inspiration that, truthfully, seems as though it is coming from somewhere beyond the part of my head I currently know as "me", I can't get to the keyboard fast enough, can't type fast enough to capture the fleeting images and feelings before they are gone. My muse is, apparently, a world class sprinter. She also has a tendency to be inconsiderate, showing up at the most ridiculous times, like when I'm in the shower or deliciously cozy in bed. Her absence of late is making me wonder what she's up to, making me suspicious and wary. Is she gone for good? Is she training to be a long distance runner? Is she cheating on me with someone else? What?

    So, here I am, letting you know what's going on, which is nothing. Apparently I am on a sabbatical I don't remember applying for. I may as well have a writer's block party. Now, if you'll excuse me, I must go to the kitchen for some refreshments."

    And since Alex has thrown down the bad writing gauntlet, so to speak, I will humbly throw in the following for your consideration:

    Two entries for the biographical nonfiction category

    The first line from I HATE WINNERS
    It was the bestest of times, it was the worstest of times, 'cause my BFF Yolanda won the state lottery off of a ticket she bought in my daddy's store and everybody wanted to buy stuff there after that, but then Yolanda got all snooty and didn't want to have anything to do with me and this is the story of the pain she caused me.

    Far be it from me to judge others, but there are reasons why my life has turned out so crappy and there is a lot of blame to go around, the only problem is knowing where to start.

    Written in response to another Cowbird author's writing prompt for first lines from very bad books.
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