You’ve probably heard, Dear Reader, that writers occasionally suffer writer’s block. It’s an affliction of the profession, and sooner or later, it strikes us all. I’d never had it. No, don’t hate me, writer friends. I didn’t say I always write good stuff. I said I’d never run out of reasons to write. But last month? Whoa. The dreaded writer’s block struck. And it left a mark.
If you’ve never had writer’s block, let me help you with a simulation. Get a milkshake. I prefer vanilla but any flavor will do. When it’s still nice and icy cold, stick the straw in and slurp. Slurp! Slurp! Slurp! Faster! Keep going! Slurp! Go, go, go!
Aaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhgh! Ice ache! Yes, Dear Reader. That excruciating, icepick-right-into-your-brain feeling that crosses your eyes? That’s what writers feel when they’re blocked. Staring at a blank page that seems endlessly long and painfully bright. Straining. Straining. Straining. Nothing.
I racked my brain. What had I done that could be funny? Had I had any Lucy-like moments this month? Injured myself or had a weird accident? No. Things had been pretty quiet. (That would change. A week and a half ago I slipped on some water my cat had splashed out of the bowl in the kitchen. One leg went one way, the other leg went the complete opposite direction, and my back wrenched itself trying to remain neutral. The result is a pulled hamstring and back strain. But that’s a blog for another day.) Had I instigated or participated in any shenanigans? No. Apparently I am the most boring, unfunny person in the universe. Nothing.
|Clouds, Sky Blue, Clouds R.M. White|
Then I tried meditating, thinking inspiration would strike. Usually when I meditate, my mind is like a monkey on speed. My meditation teacher used to say, “Just turn those thoughts into clouds and gently push them away.” Well, he would have been proud of the black, empty space my conscious mind had become. Not a cloud in the sky.
My favorite writer always said, “When you get writer’s block, just write. Just write something, even if it’s just stream of consciousness. Pretend you’re talking to a friend.” Okay. So now I don’t have any friends? I certainly couldn’t think of a good conversation starter.
I ended up writing a long, not very good blog about my newly adopted Maine Coon Cat, Ranger. I don’t think anyone actually read it but my parents and my best friend, but by golly, I put something up. I did it. I beat the block and just wrote something. That meant my next blog would be witty, interesting, and absolutely fabulous. Oh, wait.
Well, there’s always next month. Sigh. Stay tuned, Dear Reader. I’ll get it one of these days.