I discovered a book in the library that is meant to inspire the short story writer whose creative synapses have gone limp. It has a series of "exercises" meant to "inspire" the would-be writer. So far, I find it quite touchy-feely and it's difficult to get too far in the book at a time because you need eyes to read (unless your book is in braille, which mine is not), and my eyes are too busy rolling at the author's "suggestions" to get much reading done. But, it's what I have for now, and maybe it's worth a shot.
Therefore, in efforts to rid myself of crippling writer's block, I am starting the Great Write Whale experiment. On this humble little blog, I will post my exercises as I go through the book. Let me assure you now, what you are about to read is unlikely to be polished, or good, or even interesting. But think of it like watching, I don't know, Peyton Manning play football. (I don't care if you don't like football, just roll with the analogy. It's all I've got right now.) When Peyton's at his best -- his mind is sharply calling the plays at crunch time, his throws all are right on target, that sort of thing -- he's quite interesting to watch. Not so much when he's in the locker room lifting weights or running around the field warming up. Especially not when he first gets out of bed in the morning and is stretching and yawning and his breath probably stinks and he's a normal guy. That's me right now; as far as I'm concerned, this writing is me stretching. Well, more like yawning. And my figurative breath is probably a little foul. When I'm ready to get on the field, I'll alert the publishing companies.
Anyway, I'm not going to bother telling you the details of whatever exercise the book asks me to do, I'm just going to write. And if it's really that bad, blame the muse, not the writer.