Charles Caleb Cotton was an Englishman, an eccentric cleric and a popular writer, back when Englishmen wore powdered wigs, sailed sailing ships, nearly 200 years ago. Remembered more for short works and quotable aphorisms, I have no other reason to remember him. I do remember, “When you have nothing to say, say nothing.” I knew the quote but had to look up the source. When I think I should be writing but draw a blank, I remember his, “Say nothing.”
I know some very good writers who would disagree. They say the blank mind is a wonderful place to begin. If you write rubbish for a while, just keep writing and something will come together. It’s as much about playing with words as it is about story. At the moment I’m more in tune with Cotton than my writer friends. Unmotivated rubbish is about all I’m good for.
Maybe it’s a good sign; I should be glad it doesn’t hurt so much and I can do some things. Recovering from my bicycle crash is slow going with a lot of recovering still to do. I can move my arm all around but can’t put enough pressure on a sharp knife to cut a piece of cake. My ribcage only hurts when I take it for granted. Physical therapy begins tomorrow; expect that will disturb and excite some sensory neurons. But without some adversity I wouldn't know the difference.
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