Sometimes insecurities wreak havoc with the creative process. Because of this, Alex J. Cavanaugh founded the blogosphere's one-and-only Insecure Writer’s Support Group. We’re posting monthly, exposing our vulnerabilities and/or offering support to one another. Please check out Alex’s blog to visit others’ posts. It’s a group of kind-hearted bloggers/writers, authors and great people. Join us, if you haven't already! All that's required is an insecurity or two hundred.
I'm winded. I've been chasing down my Insecure Self for hours. She ran off, saying something about a messed up brain. I finally found her at the local Walmart, Toys and Games Aisle #16, with Cranium in hand. Here's what unfolded:
Robyn: There you are! I've been looking all over town for you. What are you doing?
Robyn's Insecure Self (IS): Nothin', just buying a new brain. I need one. I'm tapped out these days. No creative thoughts, ideas, no jokes. It's all gone. I'm afraid it'll never come back, so I'm buying this (pointing at Cranium).
Robyn: That's not a brain, silly. It's a game. I played it once. It's kind of abstract and took too much work. What was Hasbro thinking? Put it back! We're going home.
A heavily tattooed blue vested Walmart employee approaches. Walmart employee: Can I help you find something?
IS: Yes, I'm looking for a brain.
Walmart employee: You won't find one here. He turns and walks away.
IS: Oh. Thanks anyway.
Robyn yanks IS's arm. Come on, we're going back to Life by Chocolate. They head home.
IS: But I've lost it, I tell you. What if I can never make them laugh again? And I'm 100 or so pages into my book, and I just can't keep going. I want to take a year or decade off, without losing any time. It needs too much *bleep*n work! It's taking too *bleep*n long! All the rest of them are cranking out book after book. They're always in the creative zone. Sigh. I just want someone else's brain. Do you think Alex will give me half a braincell if I bake him brownies?
Robyn: It doesn't work that way.
IS: Then I'll toss in some Hot Tamales.
Robyn (sighing, exasperated): What is wrong with you-me?!
IS (sadly): Chocolate's gone.
Robyn (with scorn): I noticed.
Robyn and IS arrive home. Robyn types this post, as IS collapses under the computer desk into a pile of pathetic whiny neurotic angst infused insecure mushy mush. Robyn looks down at IS: Get a grip on yourself!
IS: Okay. She clasps onto Robyn's right ankle. Robyn rolls her eyes, while decisively pressing "Publish." Next, Robyn logs onto e-Bay to offer a melodramatic insecure self. Bidding starts at two cents.