A different kind of writer’s block, a worse one than I’ve never suffered through before. I have no problem writing tripe at all.
The new stuff’s nothing short of bad.
The old stuff–which I seek out because I thought it was well done–is even worse. A way with words is all I truly have, or maybe had a touch of, thanks to nuns who grammarized me and a mom who spelled out words phonetically and let me learn myself.
I have no gift for telling story. I have no place to go myself and those I follow when they whisper in my head just run away and leave me asking. I have no drama left to spare, all bottled in a martyred Catholic mind.
I cannot write. I cannot write at all.
The Lost Children: A Charity Anthology
How could someone who used the wordstruction ‘grammerized’ not be great?
}:)
You’re a sweetheart, Jason, and I figured you’d like the verbalization of a noun.