So you're writing this blog read by seven or eight people on a good day, and you've been doing it for months, or even years, and everything has been fine and dandy in that unobtrusive and meaningless way that you prefer, when out of the blue it all turns to Hell one afternoon because the thought crosses your mind...
"I should write a book."
And one thought leads to another, and another and another and another, and pretty soon you're staring out the window saying things out loud like "You've wasted all this time and energy on this stupid blog and why haven't you already written a book, and what should the book be about and should it be fiction or non-fiction and how long should the book be and asdgaqbeopng bqnoboinqoiernboin qboin oianeroin blkan nionqareoin bsnl..."
And your brain spins these questions, doubts, and self-criticisms faster and faster until they achieve a high megahertz whine inside the brain (literally) that requires, absolutely requires, the drinking of a very strong beverage, preferably with an outrageous hops to malt ratio.
Thankfully, 99% of the time the beer, serotonin, or whatever kicks in well enough and the hi-speed whine goes away along with the insane drive to write the goddamn book.
And then there's the other 1% of the time. Folks, I think I might be stuck inside that one percent right now.
I've tried everything: reading really good books that should prove beyond any doubt that: 1. No one should bother writing another book because it's already been perfected, and 2. I sure as Hell shouldn't bother; listening to Velvet Underground "Live 1969" at remarkably high volumes as I am doing right this second; going through Amazon to see the veritable mountain of books that have been slaved over by obsessed folks for thousands and thousands of hours only to see the book achieve Amazon sales ranks of #2,458,935, and reviews from pissant Amazon reviewers saying things like "this book sucks because there's a typo on page 47, and the author is obviously an idiot".
And I will continue to pursue these remedies this evening in an attempt to get this whine out of my head and move back to the placid, blogging meaninglessness you (all six or seven of you) and I have come to expect here at Burque Babble.
It's always eventually passed before. But these 1% situations can be intense. I might be away for a few days fighting this book dragon. Or I might be posting again like a madman within hours, a sign that the dragon has, once again, been slain or at least firmly stuffed into the semi-locked recesses of the mental closet.
"I'm beginning to see the light...I'm beginning to see the light. Some people work very hard, but still they never get it right...I'm beginning to see the light...here we go again, playing the fool again..."