A writer’s nightmare isn’t a monster with snakes for hands, or bullets for teeth, or brass talons for hands or knives for nails. A writer’s nightmare isn’t a terrorist, a don, a mass murderer or a very angry colonel. A writer’s nightmare isn’t getting lost in a strange place, with strangers, no food, and no shelter. A writer’s nightmare isn’t murderers behind shower curtains or faulty roller-coasters.
A writer’s nightmare is WRITER’S BLOCK.
Ever since I read about writer’s block, I have been shit scared of it. Ironically, I never had writer’s block before I read about it.
If I were a student in Prof. Lupin’s class at Hogwarts, and was studying bogarts, my bogart would be a blank word document, as blank as my mind.
Aye for nerds!
Anyway, after I read about even big and established writers suffering from writer’s block, I always had this fear. This fear of not being able to write. As far as I can remember, I have written every time something bothered me. Something hard hit me in life and I always bunged it down on a spare sheet and relieved myself. After a while, I realized writing was something I enjoyed more than just the occasional venting machine. So, I wrote more often.
And then I read about THE PLAGUE. This writer’s block thing had me stymied. I couldn’t for the love of my life figure it out. How could people just not be able to write anything. If you write regularly and often enough, you almost always have fresh materials to write about. You almost always have something to crib about, complain about, write about.
For a while, I even did some secondary research. Hoarded the internet for something on this block so as to be able to beat it. To be able to not succumb to it.
And then finally, after so many efforts, so much research…I got the writer’s block.
I have a pokerface with a facepalm right now. But, you see, if there’s one fault with the written medium, it’s that there’s seldom any smileys you can put in here to pin your exact reactions.
I have had the block for over a week now. And today, as I sat in front of my blank word document, not writing anything for the eighth day, the cursor blinking and mocking me, I decided enough is enough. I’ll beat the block by writing about the block.
And so here I am.
So, all the Dickens and Murakamis out there. Don’t fear the block. Fight the block. Write about the block. Write how you got it. Write how it tortured you. Write it all. And defeat it.
Now, I have a triumphant expression with a red cape flying behind me and thor’s hammer-cum-harry potter’s wand in my hand. Again, pardon the unwarranted explanations. The missing smileys, you see.