Blocked

Brick wall with crumbling pink stucco

I've written on being blocked before, but coming fresh out of a bout of block makes me want to revisit the subject. Also, it's been a while.

In the last four years, I've experienced a few bouts of writer's block and each time it's horrific. I've been depressed before, and for me writer's block doesn't feel far off. I can't focus on the story; everything I write seems bland, paltry, or cliche; and I'm obsessed with the likelihood of my own failure.

I start to wonder what the point is on an existential scale. Like, why am I writing about space cowboys when it's unlikely I'll ever live to see Andromeda? The universe cares nothing for me, and less for the stories I haven't written.

But, of course, eventually I work my way through it; usually, as I wrote way back in 2011, through conversation. Explaining the story to someone else gets me out of the trap of my own judgment. I no longer focus on what I hate about the story, but on what the person I'm talking to will enjoy about it.

My friend (we'll call her Zesty) suggested a conversation when I told her how frustrated I was with my lack of progress. As soon as we got to talking it was like magic: suddenly my worlds had color again. I'd eaten the chocolate and the dementors vanished!

I finished the first draft of a story this morning. It felt good to be writing again.

The real lesson that comes from this for me is that my process hasn't changed a whole lot in the last few years. I've gotten better, sure--more exacting with my prose and more open to feedback--but the bones of my creative process are still the same. I was overthinking it, assuming I had evolved into some other non-block-prone creature. I thought if I stared at the cursor long enough the words would come, but I was wrong. That's not me.

I'm a social introvert--generally tuckered out by a lot of socialization, but fueled by sharing my ideas with others. Perhaps that's at the core of my need to write, and ignoring my social needs is an easy trip to Blocksville, population: me.

If you find yourself in a familiar trap, might I suggest looking for familiar escape routes? They seem to work for me.

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