I’m currently going through a mild version of writer’s block. “How,” you might ask, “are you going through writer’s block yet composing your first blog post in almost a year?” Reread the first sentence and you’ll see the word mild in there.

It’s only when working on the novel that this mild writer’s block shows up. I’m nearing the novel’s completion yet find myself staring at the blinking cursor. Everything’s been mapped out. I know exactly what comes next. The issue is the wording. I’m scared it’s total shit and that the novel’s future readers will get antsy. Bury the book out of embarrassment. “Can’t see what I’ve been reading these past few weeks. Nope haven’t been reading anything. Eric Sazer? Who the hell’s that?”

On the outset of writing this flash nonfiction essay I saw it serving two parts: as a procrastination tool and a place for me to vent. Watching these words form upon the page, I’m having a bit of fun. If my novel was my wife, this blog is my mistress. This blog and I rented an old Mercedes convertible and together we’re riding through the countryside on Memorial Day weekend. Back at home, the novel’s wiping away all the piss I accidentally dribbled on the bathroom floor.

I love you, novel, but fuck you. You’re driving me nuts. I’m gonna go wild with my blog. I’ll print pages of you out, novel, and use that to wipe my ass. Leave the shit-stained pages in the middle of the woods. Let the squirrels and mice nibble away at the bullshit words printed on the page.

Okay, now I feel like an asshole. What kind of future book salesman am I? One day, it’ll be available at a bookstore near you. On that day when your eyes land upon the spine, will you splurge and invite this novel into your life? Or will you envision the novel causing an epidemic in your home, where immediately upon purchasing it, every book on your shelf would suddenly turn into a massive pile of manure?

I hope that doesn’t happen. As a matter of fact, I will return the Mercedes convertible, kiss my mistress farewell and return home. I’ll lift the novel off the bathroom floor, bathe it. Make passionate love to the novel. Clean my own urine dribbles off the bathroom floor. Then on the day this novel is available for purchase, I’ll make sure it comes with a roll of paper towels, rubber gloves and organic house cleaner. Just in case.

Ya never know, right?