I received my annual web-hosting bill a couple weeks ago, which reminded me that I actually pay about $100 per year to keep this big blank page out there on the Internets. While my inner narcissist would never allow me to cancel my hosting service — thereby unfairly depriving the world of my alternating acerbic and saccharine witticisms — it occurred to me that financing this website for its own sake is hardly the sort of intelligence one brags about at Mensa socials.
Fortunately, this is a situation which can easily be remedied by my just sitting down and typing something already. I say “easily”, but the reality is anything but. To say I have writer’s block is to say that the sun is yellow. Technically, it’s the truth, but the description hardly captures the true intensity of the condition. Mine is a block that could prevent even the most prolific of Harlequin novelists from describing the heaving of another bosom ever again. Children the world over should pray nightly that J.K. Rowling never sees the likes of this block – lest Harry Potter languish as a Hogwart’s fifth-year forever.
But it is not entirely fiscal responsibility that again brings me face to face with the blinking cursor. I seek power. Afterall, if L. Ron Hubbard can start a religion after writing mediocre science-fiction, why can’t a blogger? Likewise, in a 2001 census, 0.7% of British subjects identified themselves as Jedi. And it is estimated that there are more Klingon speakers in the world than there are speakers of Navajo. The lesson here is, in a world of more than six billion people, if you speak loudly enough, someone is bound to think you’re a damned genius.
So there it is. My latent messianic complex is the hammer, and my keyboard the chisel that will chip away at this writer’s block until only the rubble of obscurity is left behind. Then shall I begin my ascent into fame, adulation, and my eventual deity. There will be statues and obelisks erected in my honor, and the streets shall flow with the blood of the nonbelievers.
Therefore, the question is, when the inquisitors arrive (and they shall), and they look through your bookmarks, will you be found wanting?
Bye for now.