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ever have one of those days when you so badly want to say something clever, inspiring or interesting (or all three) and all that comes out is…
ummm, hmmm, yea.
i feel like this often.
of course, there are days when you have to shove this feeling aside and produce anyway. you have no choice. it’s your job as a writer after all.
but then there are those days when you’re working on your own projects, like this blog, for instance. and you try your best to come up with thoughtful ideas and form thoughtful sentences.
and everything you try just seems silly or stupid even. it just seems wrong.
and you feel this wrongness physically. it makes your entire body uncomfortable, annoyed, tense and angry. you clench your teeth and tighten your muscles. you feel the distaste in the pit of your stomach. your head throbs. and suddenly the room’s temperature skyrockets. and you might even feel like throwing a tantrum. you know, that is, if you haven’t already.
you question why you’re writing in the first place. and you realize a scary, scream-worthy fact: you’re a terrible writer.
you must be. no other writer goes through a block this big and painful.
i mean you’ve tried all your tricks to spark inspiration — read your favorite blogs and books, looked through your journal and visited people.com a few times (because you’re that frustrated) — and, again, all that comes out is…
ummm, hmmm, yea.
so what’s the solution, the cure-all for your biggest, baddest, most awful writing block?
the realization that writing is not easy.
i know, i know. how revolutionary. but it’s a powerful reminder.
writers often struggle with self-doubt. and part of that self-doubt is the belief that writing is super easy for everyone — except for you, of course. that the best writers in the world create a masterpiece within minutes. that the words flow from their fingers onto their journal or keyboard as the heavens sing.
but that’s ridiculous. yes, ridiculous. the best and brightest writers pen pages upon pages upon pages of words. they practice. they sweat. they worry. they scribble. they delete. they second-guess. they struggle. they get angry. they get anxious. they might even consider quitting a few — thousand — times.
so i remind myself that just because something is my passion doesn’t mean that it’ll always come automatically and without a few tears.
and then i take a break because this writing block is trying to tell me something: my brain needs a reprieve or at least a different focus.
and i take this break, knowing that the ideas and words will come again.
knowing that the best, brightest and most successful writers and artists persist and persevere.
knowing that they work harder than hard. and that’s what i choose to do, too.
what do you do when a writing drought hits? what helps you get unstuck?
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