04/13/2012 02:05 pm ET Updated Jun 13, 2012

The Muse Claims Another Victim

Okay, I'm up early and this is it. Going to climb out of bed every morning and write for two or three hours like the experts tell me. Steady output is the key to success. A novel in six months. Time to get after it.

So, here we go. Ready, set, create. Have a sip of coffee, get the creative juices flowing. Welcome, you wonderful juices.

GEEZ! A car just went flying by outside. Who the hell is out racing around at this hour? Is it deer hunting season?

I wish my scalp would stop itching. Very distracting. I don't think that new dandruff shampoo I got is working. Do they still make Prell? I should look for it next time I'm at the store.

Ahhh -- erk -- big yawn, big stretch, un-kink that old lumbar region. I need to start going to bed earlier. Dang, the keyboard looks really dusty. Wow. If that's just the dust I can see, there must be tons more of it hiding in the carpet. I need to get the vacuum going once I'm done here.

Let's see -- there should be some characters on the page by now. Where the heck are they? Probably sleeping. Taking it easy in Fictionville. Lazy characters -- I should have seen this coming.

Good lord, how did my toenails get to be so long? I just clipped them a couple of weeks ago. Curly yellow toenails. An early warning sign of Old Man Syndrome.

Come ON! Something has to happen here. The blank page is mocking me. Okay, I'm typing. The opening sentence starts right now. "It was a brutally hot morning." There we go. Hot and happening.

Why is this chair squeaking when I rotate back and forth? It's never supposed to need lubrication. That's the main reason I bought it, for God's sake! Listen to that squeak. REE-diculous! I know somebody who has one of those chairs that's a big rubber ball, and they love it. Definitely something to think about. Rubber balls don't squeak, that's for sure.

If I was a smoker, this would be a good time to light up. Boy am I glad that's not happening.

What is that little pink thing by my foot, is that a bug? Is it dead? Oh, how weird, it's PEZ. Who's buying PEZ in this family, anyway? Hmm, tastes like strawberry. I haven't had PEZ since about ninth grade. I can't believe I found that before the dog did.

Nobody seems to be motivated by this hot day I've got going. I bet Steven King has pumped out 20 pages by now. Is it possible he's in the phone book? He could help wake up my characters. Except he's probably got the line unplugged right now to avoid schmucks like me. I'd love to know if he uses a ball chair.

Cripes! Did that PEZ just make a canker sore on my tongue? It wasn't there a minute ago. Wow, that really stings. Wait -- okay -- pain going away -- now, okay, it's better. I shouldn't put stuff that's been lying on the floor in my mouth. Not fair to my tongue. I wonder what my tongue weighs. I bet I'm the only person in America who thinks about stuff like that. That would be a good question for a science test. Maybe I should be a test writer.

What is that scratching sound? What was that? Seemed like it was inside the wall. There better not be mice running around in there. I do not need a big exterminator bill in my life. Now I don't hear anything. Do I? Nope, it's gone. That was creepy.

Hey, here's another line: "At noon, a brisk rainstorm turned the air moist and sultry." Yeah, there we go. A steamy little community. Sounds kind of ominous. I think there's some tension building. Tension makes any story better. Nicely done.

Did I leave wet clothes in the washing machine overnight? I feel like I put them in the dryer. But -- ? How can I not remember what I did six hours ago? I should keep a diary. An hourly diary. A little spiral notebook with a pencil tied on a string. In a fanny pack so I don't lose it. Now THAT is some serious Old Man Syndrome.

My coffee sure didn't stay warm very long. Lukewarm coffee is not the beverage of champions. There's a thermos out on the garage somewhere. Except it's probably forty years old. Did we get that thing with green stamps? Could it be that old? Somebody should bring trading stamps back. I loved pasting those things in the little redemption books. And gas stations had stamp wars. Nobody gives away stuff at gas stations anymore.

Eck, a big floater just drifted across my eyeball. What ARE those things anyway? Little teeny dirt specks or what? You can only see them when you stop looking at them. And then you blink and they're gone, off to the edge of your eyeball, or maybe they drift all the way around and pile up somewhere inside your skull.

Oh God -- is that? -- oh jeez, a humongous nose hair. How long has that been sticking out? It's like an inch long. THAT'S why the clerk at the supermarket was smirking at me yesterday. I'm yanking this out right now -- ouch! -- got it. Gross. It can't get more embarrassing than giant nose hairs showing out in public -- hey! I'm BLEEDING!

God almighty, where's some Kleenex when I need it? An old geezer with a self-inflicted nosebleed -- SO freaking LAME! Now it's on my bathrobe, this is classic, I'm covered in my own blood before sunrise. Wait -- Blood Before Sunrise -- that sounds like a book title. That's a GREAT title!

No panic -- got to nail that title down as soon as this gusher stops and where the HELL is some Kleenex?! -- okay, old paper napkin -- that'll work fine. Fine and dandy. Dripping stopped? Is it? Yes, we're good, we can be done for today. Way to go, team. Got my title, got the setting pretty much figured out, tension simmering -- I just found my comfort zone!