Writer’s Blocks

I’m sitting in the living room with some of the worst writer’s block I’ve ever experienced. I usually throw my hands up and shut down my laptop when it gets this bad but I’ve decided to press through the congestion in my mind. I don’t intend for this to make sense nor do I think the following will be worth reading. I just want to spite my writer’s block.

As I stated above. My normal response to this much noise in my head is to disengage. I’ll meander on to YouTube and watch some videos. Nothing specific, usually Fail Army. That’s always good for a laugh. Or I’ll play some video games. Grand Theft Auto is a favorite. Always a go to distraction when the wheels grind to a halt and I can’t string two words together without feeling like an abject failure. I’m listening to Bach but it isn’t helping much. I’m getting a sort of hodgepodge of prose. Very disjointed. Still better than the stalemate. I feel like taking a drive to clear my head but I’d probably end up in Omaha, Nebraska. Sleep. Sleep is always good.

I wonder where this comes from. I could say it’s out of the blue but I doubt it. It’s obviously a mental state. A lack of flow. (Hence the terribly jagged sentences.) I’m going to go out on a limb here and say one of the factors is pressure. Pressure to produce, to be good, to make sense, to know what you’re talking about. Nothing is good enough right now. I’ve been flirting with the delete button way too much lately. I want to start over. It’s strange. I feel it’s a bit immature. Like a child flipping over a board game just before losing. It’s not that what I’ve written isn’t good, it’s that my mind simply cannot accept its current grade. Who knows. Maybe I should throw everything out and start over.

I think a good night’s sleep will help. Some coffee in the morning.

This couldn’t have come at a worse time. I need to stay on track with my writing. I’ve got goals to reach this year. And maybe that’s all of it. The severity of my success or failure. Maybe this is me freaking out over that realization. The further away I push my thoughts the longer it takes to produce and the safer I am. No exposure. The words I bleed out onto the page are spared those prying, judgmental eyes.

Here’s my conclusion. I’m going to look at this as another obstacle to overcome. The words have always dried up here and there. That’s nothing new. My real concern is the pressure. Which is probably the least of my worries and I should focus on the lack of confidence in my abilities.

I have to forgive myself for sucking. We all have to start somewhere. Zero is where everyone began. Take it easy.

I hope to look back at this one day and feel tenderness for the person writing it. We’ll make it through ol’ chum. By wit or grit. We’ll make it through.

Creativity stifled is torture.