Wll, I’ve finally figured out the best way to refe…
Wll, I’ve finally figured out the best way to refer to my intense resistance to rewrites. It’s officially a Falling-Asleep-In-Therapy-Kind-of-Thing (aka FAITKOF). Thanks to a Dear Friend who went to marriage counseling with Dear Friend’s Spousal-Unit to explore some painful issues, and whose Spousal-Unit promptly fell asleep in an obnoxiously snoring sort of way (laced with full “climbing uphill in seventh gear” intake and “blowing spit-bubbles” outflow effects) on said Dear Friend’s shoulder, I now have a term to describe my version of writer’s block. ‘Cuz Denial ain’t just a river in Egypt… now I too can proudly say that I am adverse to accepting responsibility for cleaning up the shit that I write, or I can just say that it was a FAITKOF / faitkof kind of day. Ooh! I just said that out loud. It works aurally too! Oh, hey, I could get even lazier, lop off the last three letters, and say that I didn’t get any rewrites completed not because I’m a lazy pile of lard in a skinbag, but because of fait… *ahem* FAIT. That’s it. My short story is eternally doomed to a miserable half-existence as a tattered stack of vowels brutalized by some irritable consonants who just can’t get along with anybody, all in the name of the almighty Paragraph, and it’s FAIT’s fault. Not mine. Gee, alliteration too. What more could you want in a shoddy excuse?