Writer's block is very real, don't let anyone tell you otherwise...
I think there's a general assumption that writer's block is more about lazy writers not wanting to do any actual work than any real kind of problem. But, having just spent the last few months trapped in the worst case of writer's block, I can assure you that this is not the case.
Writer's block is sitting in front of an empty document, willing your fingers into action but getting nothing in return. It's the feeling of actual physical sickness that you get when you realize that your tank is empty, that nothing is going to come. It's a fear... a fear that there was nothing there in the first place, or that what was there was an exhaustible supply.
It's also an isolating feeling... Writers generally have a cacophony of voices in their minds, a chorus of demands, each one desperate for its story to be told. Characters take on a life of their own, weaving narrative from nothing, conjuring scenes that never existed. But writer's block takes that from the writer as the voices fall silent. No longer is the clamoring horde desperate to be heard. It may as well not exist...
It's awful.
And then, this week, completely out of nowhere, my writer's block ended! Without warning, a voice chirped up in my head.
"I have a story," she said. "It's kind of naughty."
"Tell me more," I replied, trying not sound too hopeful, trying not to scare her away. But she talked, and when she talked, I wrote, and wrote, and wrote. Each sentence was like an orgasm, a blessed, welcome relief! As the voice talked, others joined her, as if previously nervous about speaking up... And, almost overnight, the block has ended. It's like coming back from the dead!
I couldn't be more relieved! x
I think there's a general assumption that writer's block is more about lazy writers not wanting to do any actual work than any real kind of problem. But, having just spent the last few months trapped in the worst case of writer's block, I can assure you that this is not the case.
Writer's block is sitting in front of an empty document, willing your fingers into action but getting nothing in return. It's the feeling of actual physical sickness that you get when you realize that your tank is empty, that nothing is going to come. It's a fear... a fear that there was nothing there in the first place, or that what was there was an exhaustible supply.
It's also an isolating feeling... Writers generally have a cacophony of voices in their minds, a chorus of demands, each one desperate for its story to be told. Characters take on a life of their own, weaving narrative from nothing, conjuring scenes that never existed. But writer's block takes that from the writer as the voices fall silent. No longer is the clamoring horde desperate to be heard. It may as well not exist...
It's awful.
And then, this week, completely out of nowhere, my writer's block ended! Without warning, a voice chirped up in my head.
"I have a story," she said. "It's kind of naughty."
"Tell me more," I replied, trying not sound too hopeful, trying not to scare her away. But she talked, and when she talked, I wrote, and wrote, and wrote. Each sentence was like an orgasm, a blessed, welcome relief! As the voice talked, others joined her, as if previously nervous about speaking up... And, almost overnight, the block has ended. It's like coming back from the dead!
I couldn't be more relieved! x
