Imagine the shock to my writer’s immune system when I arrived at my normal outdoor, luscious, tropical resort, writing area to hear the words “Baby, Baby” being blasted loudly like I’m at a raucous block party. There’s no vaccine for that, is there? A couple heard “babys” is surely enough to send a writer’s creativity fleeing like an interesting plot escaping a “Twilight” festival.
Anyways, it was a kid’s birthday party, replete with balloons, photo booth, and Bieber. I scooted past it as quickly as possible hoping to escape its reach at the far edges of the pool. Finally, the song in the distance ended, and I breathed a sigh of relief until the cruel devil muse pressed re-play, and before I knew it, my ears were once again being bombarded with that clever lyrical phrase, “Baby, Baby, Baby, ooow!” Why couldn’t I have thought of that?
And that’s when it hit me, I understand why lyricists, writers, artists, and performers of all stripes have their problems with Bieber – they are jealous of his writing chops. That must be it, right?”
Who else can spin crap into gold?
I’m always stressing that I need to keep my writing simple, but now I realize that’s not it. I should keep my writing inane, it might have a much further reach.
So I decided to give it a try:
“Baby, you’re cool … oooo, baby, yes, baby, oool.” (You’ll notice how I even rhymed.)
It still needs a little work, but maybe he’ll hire me as his lyricist. I mean, why not, right? I came here to work on my novel, but now that my mind has been reduced to mush, what chance do I have to succeed in the realm of fiction and literature.
If you can’t beat him, join him, baby! Yeah! Ooooh!