Writer’s block, who me? No.
I don’t block.
Okay, maybe once in my very early 20s I experienced the very foreign – and thankfully, fleeting – sensation of not having anything to write about.
I remember being gripped by panic, thinking, will I ever write anything again? But the block lasted about as long as it took for me to write that last sentence.
Why? My Muse and I are, tight.
Actually, the other day someone gave me a cure-all that can bust any block, large or small, wide open delivering a veritable cascade of inspiration. It’s that online, rapid-fire, faceless, plagiarising, pilfering pal called, AI!
Say hello to your ready-made, would-ya-like-fries-with-that block-buster! Now why didn’t I think of that?! Oh yeah, that’s right – because AI is a soul-less excuse for original idea generation that has NO PLACE IN THE CREATIVE ARTS.
Now. Where was I? Oh yeah, my generous Muse.
In this last week alone, she has been working overtime bestowing insights, ideas and revelations stoked by the fires of family life, misbehaving hormones, a wise-cracking, coke-sniffing Yogi, observations from a luxe retreat littered with influencers, (yeah, littered) and even a Netflix series of all things!
Whew. Truly an embarassment of riches. I guess you can consider this missive a trailer of sorts for future Phylosophies.
Just for today my friend, I needed a break from scribin’ and stuff.
Right here, right now, I wanted to write about nothing – which, I guess, is still something… of a Phylosophy, for you.
© Phyllis Foundis 2025