Let me tell you why I love Batman. It is quite simple really, Bruce Wayne is one sexy man. He is everything that little girl me wanted in a guy: adventure, mystery, good looks, and a really sweet car. I write tonight sitting at my makeshift desk looking at a blank storyboard and wearing my very much awesome Batman hat. I was hoping the hat would break outside of the confines of just awesome and be a good luck charm when I sit completely blocked and wondering why the words are playing hide and seek with my consciousness. It does not seem to possess such magic, however.
Although it fails on the luck front, it does make me feel like a complete bad ass. That feeling alone overwhelms the feelings of defeat caused by a lack of creative ideas. It is almost as if the hat channels a bit of Bruce himself and makes me believe that I am capable of anything even when I am incapable of this one very vital thing. If I cannot write, I cannot do much. It is possible though that if I were only given a cape and mask to go with my hat, I could become the ultimate, vigilante writer. I am not currently sure what that would entail, but I may just be willing to risk donning the getup to find out.