When the Well is Empty

It seems my inkwell is empty more often than not and it fuels my ire like nothing else, well, except when I lose a tennis match...more on that another day. Anyway, I think I need to alter my approach to writing--I try too hard, dwelling on word usage and transitions so much, to the point where the final piece is barren, without juicy plots or well-rounded characters or even my own personality. When it comes to art, I'm learning, it seems you can never go wrong with natural. If a model, as they say on America's Next Top Model, is too posed or rehearsed, too restrained and controlled, the picture is lackluster--same with writing. If I'm going to be a author of complex psychological novels, I can't write what I think a random crazy person would say--I need to write what I would say if I were crazy. I need to make it personal.
Sbass is the perfect example of this. She has found her way; you can look at something and say 'Wow, Sbass has done it again.' She has her own shtick. Maybe I just need more time. I can hear Sbass right now, "It's okay! You're just a little chickie! A baby bird! You're okay!!"