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People ask about writer’s block: the difficulty in writing consistently, in producing words. It’s not easy to write! Some writers barricade themselves up in a garret, or lock themselves in their rooms, forcing themselves to write at least 50 thousand words a week. Something like that. Some crazy target.

Other writers write for these blogs. They write every day. They come up with something each and every day for the blog. 200 blog words a day. Something. Anything. For a while they’re really into it. But after a year or two they usually grow weary. They ask themselves why the heck they’re writing on this blog thing for anywaze. What for? All the same, the blogging often becomes a bit of an obsession for them. A daily obligation. Bumba, for instance, even began his blog with a plan of “every day another story”- or something stupid like that. That’s what he titled his blog. If you don’t believe me, you can scroll up and check the Header. It says Every Day Another Story. You know, he just figured he’d have a new story every day. He also figured that he could get contributions from other authors as well. What’s more he hoped to present several of his own books that were already written. His intentions were noble. You have to grant him that. But then he winds up using various shortcuts. He posts every other day. Or he just posts some songs that he recorded on the guitar the day before and calls that a post.

Such is Bumba’s answer to writer’s block. What the?


IMG_1065As I sat on the bus I waited for the inspiration to come. I knew that if I rode the bus I would soon find the muse. It would just come to me. The bus is my muse. I would overcome the current bout of writer’s block. The writer’s block thing would simply dissolve into the mumblings and rumblings of the #20 bus as it rattled its way down Wilshire Blvd.

After passing the LACMA Museum I noticed some new buildings going up at La Brea. Further down there was a shiny new car dealership. Then a series of strip malls. Places to eat. Crossing Highland, the bus entered into a more gentrified stretch of Wilshire. No more commercial stores. Some corporate offices. Some nicely landscaped condos. The drove by the fabled Fremont Estates.

The ride down Wilshire, arguably Los Angeles’ greatest boulevard, might make a swell idea for a story, a saga perhaps, a grand quasi-literary tour of L.A., I thought. Hmmmm.

……..Naah, better to just present a song

If you ever go to Houston

Tell them all I said hello.