I have no idea what I’m going to write today in this blog post. Let’s just say that this is definitely a pantser blog, as opposed to a blog about pantser writers versus plotters. I feel like the schoolboy having to write a five hundred word essay and using ‘the’ and ‘and’ and ‘that’ as many times as possible. I could talk about the actual craft of writing, but then again I suppose I’m getting to the essence of writing by writing about this topic: I’m waiting for my blog muse to show up.

I’m still waiting.

There was that cold snap that threw me for a loop. It might have been the coldest snap I’ve ever experienced as a New Englander. My car’s engine light came on and started blinking wildly, warning me to shut off the engine during this snap. So I got in my truck, only to discover that the heat refused to come on. I thought, “Who in their right mind would want to commit murder during a cold snap where the temperature is below negative forty?” On Mount Washington the temperature hit negative one hundred and eight. I hate wind chill. I like chilled shrimp, but that’s a totally different kind of chill. You can’t fly a kite or sail a boat when there is a wind chill. My son tells me all the time, “Chill out, Dad.” Or, “Dad, take a chill pill.” If there was a pill I could have taken to fight off the wind chill, don’t you think I would have taken it?

Where are you blog muse? I’m getting nervous and making a fool out of myself.

Anyway, I’m still thinking about what to write. I called my son out in L.A. and asked what movie or commercial he was working on. After telling me to chill out, he said he was working on a movie starring John Cena. But when I asked him if he had seen John Cena he said he hadn’t. That would have been an interesting blog topic to write about if he had seen John Cena and talked to John Cena. Because John Cena is a behometh wrestler from Boston and I was once a wrestler from Boston, although far from a behometh. But alas, that didn’t turn out well for my son, as John Cena didn’t appear that day. He was probably lifting weights. Or wrestling. Or acting like he was wrestling. Anyway, my son’s current assignment is working on a H&R commercial, and that reminded me that I had to do my taxes, and I hate doing my taxes as much as I hate paying my taxes. It makes me have to look at my royalty statements, although that doesn’t get taxed much.

Still waiting, Blog Muse.

Which got me thinking about writing. Which I like doing at times — thinking about writing. Then I remembered I had a blog post to write, which meant I had to think about what I was going to write for my blog post instead of thinking about the plot of my new novel, which is definitely more plotted than pantsed. So instead I sat down and watched a movie called The Menu about a five star chef who is sick of cooking fancy meals for fancy pants diners, and decides (SPOILER ALERT) to kill them all at the end of the dinner service. It was a good movie. It made me want to cook, because I love cooking. But not die after the meal.

I’m afraid you’re not showing up today, dear Muse.

So I went out and bought two more pizza pans because when I cook I like to make pizzas because they are definitely not fancy pants meals. I have one pan for grandma style pizzas; one pan for Detroit style pizzas; one more pan for more grandma style pizzas; and a slab of baking steel for coal oven Brooklyn style pizzas. Cooking pizzas helps take my mind off thinking about this blog post. Beer helps too. Beer and pizza go well together. Like Abbott and Costello. Pantser versus plotter.

I’ve given up. Let’s land this puppy.

So you want to be a writer. Hmmm. Take note. I am writing this thrilling blog from the seat of my pants right now. Stream-of-consciousness blogging, I think they call it. I am a blogger extraordinaire, although not really. I know that people like to talk about the weather a lot, and we did have some great weather to talk about. Cold weather and rain really gets peoples juices flowing, but bad weather pays the bills. Celebrities are usually a good topic to blog about, although my son never saw John Cena, so I can’t talk about that. Movie recommendations work well, so go watch The Menu. And who doesn’t like to cook for diners who will not live to blog about it. I could even have my own crime writing cooking show on the Food Network called The Barefoot Blogger.

Oh, (SHAMELESS SELF PROMOTION SPOILER ALERT BECAUSE THE MUSE FAILED TO SHOW UP) and I have two psychological thrillers coming out this year.

And there was one funny thing that happened, although it’s not very funny to me. In fact, it’s a little embarrassing to blog about seeing as how I think I’m losing my mind. I sat down to watch the Kansas City versus Cincinnati football game a few Sundays ago. I had my pizza, which I had cooked to absolute perfection, and my chilled beer, which was chilled the way I like it. I just got off the phone with my son, who told me he hadn’t yet seen or talked to John Cena. I figured that by watching the football game, I wouldn’t need to think about writing this stupid blog post. Then I watched the game, cheering and pumping my fist, not the least bit concerned what I would blog about.

I stood cheering at the end of the game on account that my team won. Yes, Joe Burrows did it again. Then my wife checked the TV guide and told me that I had watched LAST years game, and that this years game would start in fifteen minutes, and that it served me right because I should have been working hard on my blog instead of watching a stupid football, cooking and eating my own pizza, and quaffing chilled lagers. A true story. No joke. I mean it, man.

Hey, Muse, you showed up! Better late than never.

Maybe I’ve found my muse and that’s been the gist of this blog post: I’m losing my mind. Yes, I’m officially losing it. Your congratulations are duly noted and appreciated. This is what I’ve been meaning to say to you wonderful people all this time. I’ve found my muse, but lost my mind: all in all a good trade off. But now it’s time to go gently into the night. Every blog post must end or they tend to become rambling, nonsensical soliloquies, like that bridge to nowhere the government built years ago in Alaska. Maybe I’ll talk more about losing my mind in a future blog post, as my mind tends to lose more of itself the older I get. Unless my son meets John Cena. If that happens, then I’ll most happily talk about that — if I remember.

(SHAMELESS SELF PROMOTION SPOILER ALERT) And don’t forget about my two psychological thrillers coming out this year. I already have.