A Year in Prose

Seven people, each writing once a week for a year.

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It’s pretty hard to be original sometimes. I don’t even write that much, but when I do, the hardest part is always the beginning. It’s like the residue of all my previous good ideas and clever tricks is stuck in my brain, coating my skull and gobbing up all the gears and machinations until I just can’t think of something new. And then when something new finally does break it’s way through the gunk and reach consciousness, I have to spend hours cleaning it off so I can see it. 

Sometimes I really wish my mind was actually the metaphor it makes up for itself.

Like if my brain were a computer and I could save and erase data. How useful would that be. Anyway it’d be better than if my brain actually did machine out ideas covered in goopy old-idea residue. Eew. Or maybe my head could be a machinist’s shop, stamping out perfectly designed new concepts.

But anyway, the point. The beginning is always hard. You strum the G chord. You think, “Gee, I’ve heard that before.” You mumble something unintelligible about love. Or distance. Or sunsets, or fires, or other guitars, or the guitar you’re playing. That’s songwriting. Gotta say the same thing but different. Or a different thing but the same. Can’t say different things different or else no one gets it. Can’t say same things the same or it’s unoriginal. So with all the ways the same things have been said but different how do we even come up with new stuff? 

I have no idea.

Filed under Friday Ben Azevedo Residue no music :(