On creativity and writing

When jotting down a post just like this one many problems may arise.
One of these problems is the focus demanding and time-consuming act of pulling oneself up by the bootstraps in trying to enter some sort of creative writing mode. Some of the writers that I know of (Hi, Mr. Reed) circumvent this by furiously grabbing the pen whenever being struck by the eluding and cruel mistress that inspiration turns out to be.
The issue here is: she's scarcely there when I need her. In most cases she's merely lingering out of concern for the treatise. Since writing is not as natural of an act as falling asleep, personal experience has shown that in order to lift off, one is best off by forcefully initiating the desired behaviour. The rest will automatically follow.
You might view this as having one hand to hold a knife to the throat, with the other hand ferociously whacking away at the keyboard just as if one saw rabbit heads popping up from underneath the keys. It's a game.

We have no time to play games, right? This is serious stuff. The second issue when authoring a piece of the treatise, or these revelations if you may, is this: The entire argument can be presented in just a few sentences. Period.
Adversaries, should they exist, could make the case that the passages following solely consists of different shapes of verbal self-indulgence. The conception of this silly notion might stem from rumors of me and Mr. Reed allegedly having elevated ourselves to the position of gods.
While I cannot wholeheartedly give my support to such an outrageous conspiracy theory, we have jointly revealed in earlier posts that there is a particle of truth to that statement. What I'm referring to is, naturally, the second principle of the club.
Apart from oiling the expressive wheels of the lingual clockwork, this also gives opportunity to enlighten by example, to bring cloudy ideas down to the ground and into the gutter, so to speak.

During the writing of a text it is inevitable to now and then walk head-first into the colloquial wall. Dazed, and sometimes confused, one lies there on the ground wondering where the air went. After a while, when the fingers are as cold as they were from the start, the creative cramp has let go, and writing may again commence. This is all about practise, I reckon. The wall can be a time-thief, but I think that active training (continuous, stubborn if you may, writing) can help keeping one eye out for approaching walls.

For the sake of argument, suppose that we during some point in time have reached a state of streamlined crea-/productivity in which the conversion of thoughts to text comes with negligible resistance. What in some cases then seem to happen is a sort of overspilling of ideas, ideas and formulations appear that are irrelevant to the text currently growing before one's very eyes.
Since some of these fragments (sometimes whole passages) can be worked upon, one is tempted to write them down elsewhere. I felt a sudden urge to use the marvellous (one of my favourite in the English language) idiom "to add insult to injury" in a text, but couldn't quite find a proper use for it, not wanting to add superficial chunks to the text. Now I've used it, however.

I now wander over to the outdoor field of feedback. Since me and Mr. Reed write for ourselves (whenever we claim the opposite we lie) the texts get a sort of smug quality attached to them. I am aware of the fact that we have a small multitude of readers, but I highly doubt that anyone apart from me and Mr. Reed really reads the texts. I'm fine with that, and it would be extremely foolish of me to even make an insinuation in the other direction. That would be like network channels claiming that people steal TV when not watching the commercials.
The club is designed in such a way to handle feedback (or the lack thereof) that originate from outside of the club's perimeter. When it comes to seeking the hidden libel and the concealed homage, care is taken that in order to find it, one has not only to read between the lines, but also behind them. We are so tongue-in-cheek.

The point I tried to make in the previous passage can be related to the one I will present now. I firmly believe that in order to write successfully on the Web, the text needs to be concise, witty, and link elsewhere. In real life, first impressions last. This also holds true here. If you have set aside the time to read this far, chances are that I know you.
Otherwise we certainly have a stalker on our hands. Quickly, J.P., notify the feds! Don't let them predators get you again! Sad story, really. He thought he was meeting up with a 14-year old girl when in fact 'she' turned of to be a 'he' not caring much about consent. A few visits to the proctologist later he now knows better than to publish his income on MySpace.
Lost my train of thought there for a minute in libelling Reed. The fact of the matter is that MTV has destroyed a generation, namely ours.

A quick recap. The inner problems of creativity in writing are, as I have identified them: starting, the brief nature of comfortable presentation, dealing with writer's block, losing the thread. The 'outer' aspects are largely made up of feedback and the desired brevity of Internet material. I think I can remove the knife now.

P.S. I am very concerned about recent intelligence received from our finance department regarding the use of club credit cards during Mr. Reed's research visit to Germany. Anyway, full disclosure has always been our (or)deal, so I will patiently await the report.