Some nights I wish I had something to say but I just don’t. I’ve got nothing but nothing. No insight and not even it’s lesser cousin observation. That’s been one of my criticisms of some comics about “real life” that I’ve read lately, “Lots of observation but little insight”.

There is nothing wrong with observation. Seeing the things that people do in a clear way can be quite interesting. Observation isn’t always easy either. A person’s own prejudices and perspective can distort his vision of things and make his observations reflect inward instead of outward. It’s not an easy thing to see clearly. My criticism may slight observation more than I mean to.

Still the “clear sight” part of things is the lead up for me. It’s what gets me pondering on why things are the way they are and why people act or behave as they do. I find it fun to try and figure such things out. Sometimes things can be figured out and sometimes not. Most time not I would say. But it’s still fun to try.

That is why I got nothing. When I write I like it to be about something. I like it to be about ideas. I generally don’t like to write much about my personal life because I find it boring. It’s pretty much the same as everybody else’s personal life. I have no greet insights into love, life, family, or money. Occasionally I’ll have some small insight into one of the above topics and might write something about it but in general if I’m broke, flush with cash, heart broken, happy, directionless, embarrassed, pleased, or melancholy I’m feeling or thinking the exact same things that any other human being would in those states.

The idealess state I’m in now is certainly not unique but is the realm of fewer people. You have to be a person who comes up with ideas in the first place in order to experience an idealess state. Or maybe this is the natural state for people who don’t come up with ideas? I’m not sure.

I’ve always hated the “Writer with writer’s block” clich├ęd stories that get written when a writer allegedly has writer’s block. They are always the same, “Oh no, I have writer’s block and can’t write anything how terrible; oh look I’ve written a whole story about having writer’s block; aren’t I clever”. Beside I don’t have writer’s block I just have no interesting insights to write about.

I don’t think I’ve ever had writer’s block. Maybe because I’ve never been a professional writer of any sort. There are sometimes I can write and sometimes that I can’t but it doesn’t matter if I have nothing at any given time. If I can’t write than I don’t. If I give it a day or two I’ll be able to come up with something.

I’m an artist more than a writer anyway. That’s what I spend most of my time doing. And there is no such thing as artist’s block. An artist can always make a bad piece of art. It’s easy. That’s the difference. When writers say they have writer’s block no words come at all. The blank piece of paper never gets filled. The tap is turned off. As an artist the tap is never turned off. You might make bad drawing after bad drawing but that’s something.

In making a drawing, which is how a lot of art gets started, you can just make a line on a piece of paper. That line changes the context of the whole piece of paper. The next line can be in response to the first which changes the context again. It’s easy to start a drawing. Not so easy to make it interesting and finish it but easy to start. Hence no artist’s block

Writing is different. Words really exist in a space in our heads. Writing words on a piece of paper doesn’t always help. They can look out of context and meaningless on the page if they’re not right in that space in our head. A paragraph isn’t like a drawing. Each new word might not put the ones before it into some new context but obscure them and make them meaningless. Or the words might not be there at all. Hence the writer’s block.

Both are marks on paper and a person would look almost the same doing each activity but there are totally different things going on inside the head of the person who’s doing them. Two different forms of abstract thought. I wonder where each comes from? I’m not sure and wish I had some insight into it. But that’s life. Can’t always get what you want.

Anyway I got nothing tonight. No insight into the world. It’s all a blank. Yawn.