Have you have ever climbed a hill, a mountain, and paused at the top, your breath taken away by the view. Have you have ever stood on a shoreline, gazing out at a sailboat upon the horizon. Have you as a lonely teen, sat with the dance wallflowers, your eye unwavering upon a long-time, unattainable crush. Have you ever been in a store, any store, and some material item caught you eye, but your pocketbook finds it improbable. Oh, have you been at a BBQ, on an empty stomach, the smells, stirring a ravenous euphoria in your mouth.
Every writer smacks headlong into writer’s block (and I see the irony of writing about writer’s block).
For a writer it’s as if someone had severed a select set of neurons in the brain, shutting down the creative processes. Putting a firm halt to that unknowable muse who provides the deluge of words, images, story fragments, keeping the creative soul healthy and happy. And it might as well be the end of the world. Oh that’s too dramatic. Well for writers worth their craft, it feels like that. As if dawn has come and you find yourself in a grand desert, without water, a map and transportation to get the hell out!
Like not being able to have what you want, writers firmly blocked have a profound longing for those magic sparks that release torrents of stories. We become moody, much too sullen, short-tempered, reverting to child-like tantrums (well I do anyway).
So I’d go through the long list of ways to burst such a block, but any google search would find this for you. Here, my wish is to simply extract from my being a taste of how it feels to be caught in the cruel shackles without a pen to pick my way out.
Think I see an oasis over the next dune…
© by DC Lessoway