Remember that time you were talking to someone that you were trying to impress- a pretty love interest, perhaps- and then you lost complete track of the conversation? But of course, you couldn’t just stop talking and apologise for your momentary slip of attention, that would be rude; so you kept on talking, hoping that you would find your point somewhere along the way. Of course, you didn’t, so your sentence just dissipated into conspicuous nothingness, prompting everyone involved to give you the iconic Too-Stupid-To-Live stare.
Good times. Never happened to me, obviously. I’m much too articulate and well-spoken to ever mess up in a social situation. Too debonair and charming. Too…what were we talking about again?
Writing, in many ways, reminds me of those wonderful talks. As the author, you’re attempting to seduce your reader with elaborate words of passion and adventure, making your audience’s hearts race, and imaginations soar on wings of wonder. However, because we’re introverts who seldom get the urge to interact with other people (they’re still called “people” right? Not “absolutely-terrifying-beings-of-similar-intelligence-who-have-the-power-of -rejection-in-their-hands”? It seems the dictionary still hasn’t accepted my request to have the terms switched yet…so rude), and have the social skills of a algae-covered rock, the words we use in our writing tend to be less seductive and more…How do I put this nicely? Creepy.
It’s no wonder writer’s block exists in this disappointing world. Realistically- optimistically-writers should be the best at flirting, because our days are centred around words and how to mix them to create pictures. Flirting is just the act of implying certain pictures, using words and a degree of acting skills (or genuine desire…I guess…); writers should be fan-fucking-tastic at it! We literally flirt all the time. With the computer screen, but that’s just…kinky, right?
How the hell did I get to this point? This post was supposed to be about writer’s block, but here I am, implying sexy tech-y time. I’m so great- ace writer, right here.
It honestly doesn’t make sense for writer’s block to exist; most writers that I’ve encountered put in so much effort to follow their passion, including, but not limited to, working a job they hate in order to fund their work-in-progress. As such, motivation isn’t a problem. Imagination isn’t either, because they’ve actually got an idea, expanded into a plot and characters. So how does writer’s block even begin?
Dumb question, right? It obviously happens because the writer just had a brain fart, since they are still human, no matter how much fantasy they write.
I follow a different philosophy: I think writer’s block happens through of one of two possible scenarios.
- The writer didn’t outline, so has no idea what happens next. Panic ensues; or
- The writer outlined too much, so doesn’t want to write anymore. What’s the point of writing something down if every minuscule event is painted in your own head? No one is so altruistic that they write for the sake of other people; a degree of selfishness is always present.
In my case, I suffer from #1 syndrome. It’s one of many banes of my existence; it hounds me like the cold seeping through my sheets at night, turning my already blue toes into icicles of doom.
So what do you think? Am I being too cynical, or does my explanation for writer’s block ring true with you?