I am not writing a post today, because I do not feel like doing what I ought to. Writing comes easy to me, as easy as thinking. Sentences pour out of my mind without any effort at all. I have never had writer’s block. Writer’s block would be as foreign to me as thinker’s block or breather’s block. It’s as easy for me to write as it is to type.
For my wife and for my son, writing seems to be difficult. I have seen my wife write a letter to a family member, then write “ACK” on it in huge letters, rendering it unsendable, then giving up. I might tear up a sheet, too, but I’d at least start again, editing what I had. Since the letter could come from me as well as from her, I took what she had written, edited her sentences, made a mistake, crossed it out, and sent it.
My seven year old son agonizes over his homework. I have seen him spend half an hour on one sentence, which drives my wife and me up the wall. I think my daughter is more like me when it comes to writing. She cruises through a week’s worth of homework in one day.
My excuse for not writing is pure laziness, or just inattention. I just didn’t think to write something. It would be enough to set a reminder: write now, or maybe a Beeminder.