As the water lapped onto the rocks, he couldn't help but marvel at the wonder of the place. Three months ago he'd fished about one hundred feet out on the lake through a hole in 5-foot thick ice. Now venturing out past 5 feet would see him in chest deep water. Cold chest deep water. Did the universe work like that to keep the critters from getting bored? Or to give the fish respite from the kingfishers for a month or two? He didn't understand how it worked, it just worked.
See? Not Hemingway but it's not horrible. All I'd have to do is figure out why this guy was sittin' by the lake watchin' wet rocks, figure out what's put him there, and figure out where he's goin' from there. I could do that.
I can still write poetic works.
Sunlight beamed through the treeline,
the forest woke for the day.
The deer ventured out to graze,
the squirrels foraging looking like play.
Okay, it's not Poe but... there's somethin' there that could be given a good polishing. It'd shine eventually. Maybe move the second pair so they're the starter, let the forest be the set up for the next stanza. It's not great but it's far better than crap. Well, it's slightly better than a lot of crap.
Lyrics? No. Just no. I'll come up with an okay line, and in my head I can hear how it'd fit perfectly in a melody line. I get out the pen and pad, or I fire up the notepad program. I write in that line. At that moment my mind... sneezes. Can't do anything with it. Maybe, just maybe, I'll get two or three lines in a row that might work together but then the creative well dries up and I'm just another goofball looking at a half blank piece of paper going "Duh, what do I write now?"
It's not the guitar, I don't write with a guitar in hand as I've played enough to know the notes and I can "play" them in my head. It's not the guitar distracting me. If I did write with the guitar handy, it would be a distraction. That's why I don't write with one handy.
It's not background noise, it's no more or less noisy in my writing area than usual. I don't have pure silence or a marching band, so in that respect nothing has changed. It's not mental noise. Yeah, I'm stressed to hell and gone but I've been at this level of constant stress for about a month with no let-up. My other writing work has gone on as normal.
Tried "backing into it", sort of cheating my own writer's block. Start off writing a poem and then at some point transition it to a lyrical piece. Nope, when I transition the wheels fall off and I'm in the weeds again.
Tried putting it away for a while. Lay it down and give it a rest. I took two days, refused to pick up my pen. I had ideas coursing through my brain like crazy. I had the damn things running out of my ears. I took one idea and started assembling it in my head but when I picked up my pen and note pad... Boom, nothing.
It's annoying... Very annoying.