Sex, fried chicken and creative blocks.

I'd been staring at the computer screen for what felt like centuries. The cafe was quiet; my perfectly chilled chai latte was a distant thought. I felt angry. I felt ravenous. I felt restless. 

Five hours were spent in front of that computer screen, typing away. 

Two of those hours consisted of the following:

  • Drawing with markers. 
  • Searching the internet for inspiration and porn (jk). 
  • Pacing in 1 inch by 1 inch increments. 
  • Yelling at myself in my head. 
  • Urinating. In the bathroom. 
  • Typing out bad ideas. 
  • Rocking resting bitch face. 
  • And drinking water. 

For two solid hours, a stream of bad ideas, self-battery and frustration spewed out of my fingertips.

At some point, I started to write words that began to make sense. I lost track of time and forgot about needing to pee so much. 

Eventually the iced chai latte made its way into my hands and down into my belly.

Eventually, I landed on some pretty witty prose and a few remarkable ideas. 

Life happens.

Some days you don't want to work. You want to kiss that boy, drink beer, masturbate, watch The Office on Netflix and eat fried chicken. All day. In bed. 

Every month--by the grace of the Gods--your period comes.

And if it isn't your time to bleed, then you get to enjoy this special moon cycle with the special women in your life. It's a beautiful, hellish time where you cramp, bloat and feel like an emotional, overly hostile whale. 

And yet, I expect myself to write magical copy while I'm raging against the machine that is my body and the patriarchy.  

Yes, yes. Let's be witty while I'm shooting ice cream and gassy beyond repair. 

Life happens. 

I feel best when I've put in a good day's worth of creativity. When I've spent hours writing, editing or shooting. It doesn't mean my work is always great, but there's a sense of peace when I've done my best and worked until I knew it was time to stop, and a not a second sooner. 

The irony is that I sometimes have to wrestle with myself to do the very thing that makes me feel good. 

So periods and fried chicken aside, the best advice I can give you--because you're clearly asking for my wondrous insight--is to write even if it sucks. 

Push through the wild woman antics and learn to channel her power. Saddle up that wild stallion and learn to ride her into the sunset or at the very least to the nearest Panera. 

Otherwise, what's the point? 

You can't masturbate all day and at some point, you're going to run out of chicken. 

Might as well make something interesting in between.