I remember February 2 as being my grandfather’s birthday. Now that you’re warm and fuzzy or perhaps full of rage because your grandfather happened to be a total bastard, or bastards, if you knew both…Where was I?
The groundhog said it will be an early spring. A charming American tradition or rodent torture run amuck?
There’s a Bill Murray movie about this, where he’s caught in an endless loop until he learns to be a nice person.
Why did this tradition catch on with America? I have no idea. None.
Oh wait, I do have an idea: I think we think it’s cute and charming to have a giant rodent predict the ending of winter wrong most of the time. It feeds into some sort of anti-science, pro-magic sort of mindset. We like our air conditioning and computer-run cars, but evolution is a plot dreamed up by Al Gore to bilk the government out of hard-working tax payer bucks. Global warming is a hoax made up by the Chinese to turn everyone into commie social marxists. Wheee! Freedom!
[ note to self– must stop reading comments under science articles. Must stop reading comments under science articles!]
I’m sure others have done in-depth psychological essays on everything Groundhog Day. I won’t.
Writing? Art I writing-eth? Oh woe betides and sucketh much-eth moi!
I seem to have wandered into some sort of Lake of Ultimate Doubts. I’ve drowned, they’re performing CPR right now. Someone is. I hope they are. I don’t think they are.
Who are they???
I haven’t been writing lately. I find I can’t concentrate. That I write something for a bit, then read over it, go…OMG THIS SUCKS DEAD WHALES. Then I start over.
I repeat this pattern for days on end. Days. On. End.
It might be the epic bout of never-ending depression. It might be that I suck as a writer. It might be that damn groundhog. It might be invisible unicorns sent by the trickster gods of Narnia. At this point I am open to all suggestions and ideas.
I am trying to get submissions off. I am trying to rework old pieces, get them turned into better this or that. I might be making them worse. At this point, I DO NOT KNOW.
Welcome to Writer Has Massive Doubts, Episode One Billion, Two Hundred Six.
Is there a writer alive or very dead that hasn’t suffered like a groundhog forced to predict weather patterns for an entire country?? WELL?? IS THERE??