sometimes i'm a singer

i seriously struggled with this week's column, which was due to the editor last night at 10. i finally got it in around 11.30, and was fairly happy with it. fairly, not really. there have been times in the past that i've had a little bit of a roadblock when i was trying to get something written. maybe i didn't feel like an idea was fleshed-out enough, for instance, or maybe i didn't really have what i wanted to say in order. other times i've had so many angles, so many things to say, that i'll read the finished piece and be like, "oh gosh, i wish i'd remembered to talk about so-and-so." not the case with this week's article.

i kept trying to write, and it just kept...being crappy. it was like, trying to tape together a bunch of different thoughts and make a column out of it. it's just hard sometimes. like, i know what the people over at gaylife want, and this week i found myself struggling to give it to them. it's not a short story, after all, it's an op-ed column. the same pitfalls i find myself avoiding--writing a formulaic column every week, in which i pose a question, tell an anecdote, and expose something raw and emotion-riddled--are built into column-writing. what i mean is, how do i keep writing pieces that are dissimiliar but follow the same formula? it's the nature of the beast.

the paper's editor tells me he thinks that "i'm at my best when i expose my vulnerabilities." my columns do tend to be a little more bitter than sweet. but won't i eventually run out of vulnerabilities to expose? i mean, you can only talk about gender self identity self doubt love relationships marriage so much, right? do i have to be a quivering bowl of neurotic jello to be a good writer? it doesn't seem to hurt.