What in blazes is writer’s block?
This complaint seems to be a common issue. Writers moan about the lack of inspiration. Even a list of prompts doesn’t always break through the armour that captures a writer’s creativity and holds them prisoner.
I have trouble relating to this malady. Given a topic as bizarre as navel lint, it’s highly probable that I could wax on for several hundred words before coming up for air. It’s as natural for me as breathing. I don’t have to think about it, I simply sit down and start to type.
Before lap tops became the norm, my love affair with paper and fountain pens created the illusion that I was stuck for words. There was always a pile of crumpled sheets below my chair. I simply couldn’t tolerate scribbles or scratched out sentences. When I decided that something needed changing, I’d ball up the paper and toss it on the floor, then start over. No, I didn’t bother with a waste paper basket. The discarded words were like a monument to my efforts.
My reluctant acceptance of a computer screen soon became an environmental tool, likely saving dozens of trees from my editing process. Being able to delete, not always purposely, and backspace, soon erased all the pauses in my writing ritual.
I don’t block out stories, as some tutorials suggest, but simply sit down and start clicking away, allowing the free flow of ideas to move from my brain onto the computer. Rarely do I know where the story will take me, but inevitably it takes on a life of its own.
Writing is in my veins. I need to write. I’d much rather pen an essay, than engage in debate. The solitude allows me to formulate ideas and if they don’t fall into place, there’s always the delete button.
I once believed that my need to write was not about baring one’s soul or dealing with inner conflict. But now, I think that’s exactly what this passion is; a way to externalize and examine inner dialogue. It’s a way of looking at things, even confusion, in black and white.
Having come to that conclusion, I can only theorize, but I suspect, those who suffer writer’s block are very secure people. Myself, perhaps I’ve never sorted out who I am, and make constant attempts to unlock the truth. With every keystroke, I get closer to knowing who I really am.