There are days when there is a need to write and yet nothing to say.
A need to feel a fountain pen in hand gliding across a smooth page,
Or the demand to feel plastic keys move up and down like a ballet.
There’s a mission to move thoughts birthed and housed in gray matter
So that they can entertain and engage others out in the rest of the world.
Those days are the ones where the page is filled up with empty chatter.
The subject evolves from nothing into writing for writing’s sake,
And when the writing’s forced the theme takes a U-turn into procrastination.
Having nothing to say leaves the writer with so much heartache. Continue reading “#OctPoWriMo: Day 12-15”→
My cup of cappuccino cools as I type random words onto a blank Word document. The title definitely would have been “writer’s block,” but “writer’s block” doesn’t start with the letter “e.”
Tranquil music plays. I absent-mindedly hum along, not really aware if the sounds are too loud for my fellow coffee house patrons sitting at the adjacent tables. I realize as I continue to type that I’ve slowly become one of “those” writers who sit at coffee shops with their Mac laptops sipping their cups of cappuccino.
“Bad writers are bad because they stop too soon. In fact, let’s take a step back. The only quality, I think, that marks the writer as different from everyone else is simply an unwillingness to quit. Others give up when they learn writing is hard; the writer struggles on. When I sit down in front of the blank page, it’s no easier for me to fill it than anyone else. The non-writer looks at the blank page and — quite sensibly — says, ‘forget it, I’m outta here.’ But if they had to, they could put a few words down there — just like I do. Only the words wouldn’t be any good. So the non-writer gets frustrated, gives up and leaves. Me, too, I get frustrated… but I sit there, and work to make it better. Anybody who’s willing to struggle, I think, can write. The real work is to stick at it until you find the gold. To get to that funny line. To do the hard work no one else wants to do, but everyone wants to have done. To discover the great character bit, the clever story turn. Until you have it, you don’t have it. Until it’s there, it’s not there — and you need to stick at it until it is there.”
— Terry Rossario
It seems as though the only way to pull a writer out from the depths of absolute nothingness is to force a gun up to their head and tell them to write. It’s as if the stern actions from their jacked-up ridiculously terrifying action hero of a muse has the power to lift the verbal blockage that releases the most wonderful stories known to man. Why is it though that I have to force myself to write in order to overcome the mind boggling pause in my creative stream of consciousness? Continue reading “Writing Through Writer’s Block”→
There I am sitting in front of my computer with my finger tips resting along the familiar home row keys. It’s three in the morning and my eyes are blood-shot red from a mix of frustration and dreadful exhaustion. For a moment the world has stopped but the minute hand on the clock is swirling around and passing the twelve numbers at record speed. My eyes continue to glare at the dimly lit computer screen and I can, ever so slightly, feel the ambient light burn into my retinas. Clearly I’m not procrastinating. I would love to be able to type at least a few words on the laptop that was probably over heating so badly that my soft bedding would eventually catch fire, but instead I was peering into the blinking cursor hoping that eventually something would just magically appear.
Having writer’s block is probably the worst thing for someone to experience. Sitting there and waiting for something to fall out of your head is the equivalent of trying to watch an ice cube melt in the snow. It isn’t impossible, but it’s surely something that isn’t easily done. It’s a quiet torture that constricts the creative flow of the writing process and the unseen evil creeping up inside you that holds back any form of artistic expression, so cruel in fact that it doesn’t even leave you with your thoughts.
And here I am pleading with Apollo, praying to St. Francis de Sales, and waiting for help from all the muses and Ecanus with my finger tips still resting on the computer’s familiar home row keys. I want this writer’s block to go away so that I can live again, but for now all I can do is sit here and breathe.