To begin with, I hate being outrightly lied to. I know this is something all of you hate, being lied to, I mean, but I can handle lies that are not directly influencing my life. But when someone tells me one thing then does another in direct conflict with that, I get pissed. I guess, then, that what really burns my ass is hypocrisy, however, if you’ve read any of this, that’s no real surprise.

Also, I hate creatively dead periods. Some people have times of stagnation, but here it is the middle of February and I have had no creative insights since sometime in early January, possibly discounting the above Installment, though I seriously doubt there is anything really creative in it. I hate it! I sit and dwell on what I could be writing if I had the creative energy for it, but I haven’t had creative energy for so long that I’ve really forgotten what it’s like to be really creative. Everything I have done thus far this quarter reflects that lack of energy: Dungeon Mastering, creative writing, and most obviously, play rehearsals for “Twelfth Night.” All of it has been sluggish and very mechanical. I want to add also that “mechanical” does not equate with “automatically.” I wrote the first 30,000 words in this book “automatically,” and had lots of fun with it. Now, it is difficult to write anything at all.

So, what am I doing writing this? If it’s so hard to write, why bother? Well, to tell the truth, I really do enjoy it once I get on a roll, but I really haven’t had a roll in a while. I did have a burst of inspiration in Dr. Hornsby’s office this afternoon before class. I thought of a line for a chorus to a song: On the Dark Side of the Sun. I like it! I was half-singing something about it at rehearsal tonight, though I don’t remember all of it. I do remember it being not too depressing, but enough to sell as a single, kind of like Blue Oyster Cult’s “Don’t Fear the Reaper.” Therefore, more of that song will be forthcoming.

Now I have to end this, and I don’t have the words for it. I don’t know anything else that I want to say, and I don’t really feel like making something up. It’s as if something is blocking me from saying anything else, and, no, it’s not divine intervention, sorry. There is no god, therefore it cannot be divine intervention. Therefore, I will end with this: Do you know what really burns my ass? A flame about this high.

Howard Scott
11 February 1988