There are two types of people in the world…
The one type believes writer’s block is real and that there are days when you can’t put a single word on the page because you have forgotten how to write and may never write again and you make yourself feel better by imagining how dying alone is great because people write terrible eulogies. Hopeless romantics.
The other type believes there is no such thing as writer’s block and why, when plumbers don’t suffer from plumber’s block, should writers? That explains why plumbers make more money than writers.
For me, the difference between being unable to write and writing depends on the degree of my self-worth tied to my writing. I know I have no idea what I am going to write, so it’s a constant battle between the fear of finding out I can’t write versus finding out I am full of shit.
So here’s a front-row seat at the Colosseum of my creativity, so you can see what I go through to entertain you. Okay, that’s all bullshit. The process is more like The Hunger Games, and the only person I am trying to save is me.
BLANK PAGE: So, what do you have for me today?
Me: Give me some time to think.
40 seconds later.
Blank page: Nothing, huh? Loser.
Me: I need like some uninterrupted time.
BLANK PAGE: ♪Hello, it’s me. I was wondering if after all these years you’d like to meet.♪
Me: Gosh, you are right. I am a loser. Can’t think of shit.
BLANK PAGE: Why not try writing about that?
Me: I have done like fifty versions of that already. I am sure I will find something better.
BLANK PAGE: ♪I’m in California dreaming about who we used to be when we were younger and free.♪
Me: Can you stop that? It’s annoying.
BLANK PAGE: What? You are the one typing song lyrics to get your hands moving so it feels like you are writing something.
Me: I have no idea why I am still in this relationship with you. All I am asking for is for you to be there for me when I need you? Is that too much to ask?
BLANK PAGE: Okay, girlfriend.
Me: Patience is a writer’s greatest virtue
BLANK PAGE: Sure.
BLANK PAGE: (yeah baby…)
Me: (Select All. Delete!)
BLANK PAGE: (When will I ever learn to control myself? We’ve been here before. Why do I still have these expectations? I feel so used.)
Me: I have been staring at you for two hours now.
BLANK PAGE: Um, yeah. I am not the least bit creeped out. I have gone through worse.
Me: Thanks, but I think today’s not my day. I should just move on with my day and do something else and not waste any more time on this.
BLANK PAGE: Not the worst idea I have heard today.
Me: Maybe writing is just not my thing.
BLANK PAGE: Oh, not this again.
Me: Screw it. I don’t write for someone else. I write for myself. What do I care who reads what I write?
BLANK PAGE: Here we go.
Me: Everyone’s going to die and none of this matters.
BLANK PAGE: Is it that time of the month?
BLANK PAGE: I love you too.
Me: Let me change my environment. Maybe that will spark some ideas.
BLANK PAGE: Cool. Are we going to a cafe?
Me: No. Just the other room.
BLANK PAGE: Maybe you should write about what a miserly prick you are.
Me: Wow. I must be the dumbest human on earth.
BLANK PAGE: Roger that.
BLANK PAGE: It wasn’t bothering me as much when you were writing something and deleting it all, but now I am beginning to worry for you.
Me: Some of the greatest writers went mad.
BLANK PAGE: Yes, and they also put their head inside a microwave. Do you have a microwave?
Me: I hate you.
BLANK PAGE: I thought we could eat popcorn is all. It’s lunchtime.
Me: How long has it been?
BLANK PAGE: Three hours.
Me: I guess I should just accept my kismet and hate myself for the rest of the day.
BLANK PAGE: See you tomorrow.
Me: “There are two types of people in the world…”
BLANK PAGE: I think I dumped you first.
2 thoughts on “Writer’s block”
“The moment that you feel, just possibly, you are walking down the street naked, exposing too much of your heart and your mind, and what exists on the inside, showing too much of yourself… That is the moment, you might be starting to get it right.”
I hope so too 🙂 It’d suck to be the emperor the kid’s pointing at.