Le sad face.

It’s official. Writing sucks.

I’ve spent the last hour going through all the bits of writing that I’ve started and abandoned since starting this blog a year ago. Some bits bits are longer than others (over a hundred pages), some of them are only twenty or so, and some of them are only a line.

NONE OF THEM ARE WORKING. I have one awesome character, but no story. In my head he is sitting opposite me while I type this, with a cigarette hanging out of his mouth and a look of utter boredom on his face. Completely UNHELPFUL.

Clearly, this is a problem. It’s kind of like the wall in Run Fatboy Run, except less amusing, and I’m not Simon Pegg. My mission for this week is to somehow get around this roadblock.  Somehow.

I still love you blog!

Ah blog. Poor neglected blog. I wish I could say I had been sucked into a whirlwind of writerly endeavour…but, I’ve been slack. And a little distracted, as those who put up with my twittering will know.

Tonight I opened a bunch of old MS files, and just gawked at them. I feel like I have temporarily lost my writing mojo, and I don’t know what to do about that yet.

Ooh Spicks and Specks is on!

…

…

Right, where was I? Right, so the writing, not so good and I don’t know what to do about that yet.

In happier news, I went to see Russell Brand at Hamer Hall on Friday night. Twas an excellent night, capped off by the fact that a) I watched about 37 girls try to get backstage after  the show and b) I have never seen such a mixed bag of an audience in my life. There were the cool people (like Rove McManus, whom I spotted and said to the Divine Miss Em “That bloke looks like Rove.” To which she replied. “That’s handy, it is Rove.”), the Emo looking people (including two who were Almost The White Stripes, and another person who looked like a transvestite hooker), the girls-who-wanted-to-sleep-with-Russell (of whom there were many – wouldn’t their mothers be proud of them?), and me, totally underdressed in jeans. Who’dve thought?

Last night I went with a bunch of work peeps to a trivia night at the Sherlock Holmes Inn around the corner. We ended up coming second (with a name like Trivia Newton John we were only destined for greatness), the highlight of which was me knowing the answer to the question “27 world capital cities start with which letter?”

I’ll give you a hint – all good things start with this letter. Anyway, when she read out the answer I pulled out the victory dance, only to have it curtailed by the stupid stitches in my armpit. Only I would be the girl who had to get her stitches replaced after a particularly energetic victory dance.

Which brings me to my next point – football is back tomorow night (huzzah), and soon I will expound my firmly held belief that EVERYONE IS A RICHMOND SUPPORTER, PEOPLE ARE JUST IN DENIAL. In the meantime, I think you should read this and wish that you had thought of it first.