"So I'm having this problem," I finally confess to my husband and my teenage son over dinner. "Ever since I started blogging on my website, I have writer's block. Never had it before in my life. But I figure to drive traffic to my website, I have to blog fairly regularly. So last week I wrote on my to-do list 'Blog something funny.' And after that I froze."
"But you're funny all the time," my beloved husband says. "Just write some of it down."
"Thank you, but you don't understand," I say. "Some hilarious stuff has happened in the last week, but it's all about all of you -- Grace, Sam, you. It's private. I can't write about it for public consumption."
Sam nods philosophically. "Sometimes I say something I don't mean to be funny," he says, "but it's classically autistic and people laugh."
"I know," I say. "It happens all the time. And I would use that material, but then I would be exploiting your Asperger's for the purposes of marketing my writing, and that would be wrong."
"That's ok," he says. "I don't mind."
"Perfect," I say. "So say something funny."
Sam is speechless. I recognize his expression as one I have faced in the mirror every day for about the past week. Suddenly, he's got nothing.
"There you go," Keith says. "Blog this conversation. Problem solved."
"But you're funny all the time," my beloved husband says. "Just write some of it down."
"Thank you, but you don't understand," I say. "Some hilarious stuff has happened in the last week, but it's all about all of you -- Grace, Sam, you. It's private. I can't write about it for public consumption."
Sam nods philosophically. "Sometimes I say something I don't mean to be funny," he says, "but it's classically autistic and people laugh."
"I know," I say. "It happens all the time. And I would use that material, but then I would be exploiting your Asperger's for the purposes of marketing my writing, and that would be wrong."
"That's ok," he says. "I don't mind."
"Perfect," I say. "So say something funny."
Sam is speechless. I recognize his expression as one I have faced in the mirror every day for about the past week. Suddenly, he's got nothing.
"There you go," Keith says. "Blog this conversation. Problem solved."