Making friends with writer’s block
It took me longer to get started on this piece than I’d have liked. There was a published article about writer’s block that I liked and wanted to quote, but I couldn’t remember where I’d saved it.
Cue me faffing about for over half an hour, retracing my digital steps and wracking my brain for snippets to Google (other search engines are available). No matter that there are squillions of other articles about writer’s block. No matter that I already knew what I was going to write about writer’s block. I wanted that article and I wasn’t going to begin without it.
(I found that article, eventually. It wasn’t half as good as I’d thought, and I’m not using anything from it in here).
Ironically, that’s a form of writer’s block.
As in: wanting everything to be just so before you begin writing. You’ll use the things that aren’t just so as an excuse not to start, when in reality they don’t matter.
You might find yourself donning household gloves and de-scouring the washing machine, or cooking an elaborate dinner… anything, just to tell yourself you can’t write because there’s no time.
You could be waiting for the right inspiration to hit, because ‘proper’ writing isn’t a slog, it’s a pleasure.
Maybe you’ve read advice from famous writers who’ve shared their own tips about “beating writer’s block”. Then you feel royally intimidated, because those writers are famous. They talk about writer’s block, but if they really suffered from it nobody would have heard of them.
Truth is, there’s no one failsafe way to “beat writer’s block”.
If there were, we wouldn’t need those squillions of articles, would we?
It’s always fascinated me that it’s writer’s block. Not creator’s block; not painter’s block or sculptor’s block or musician’s block. Even though other forms of creativity can be just as difficult, just as frustrating, and just as likely to produce work that makes you feel emotionally vulnerable afterwards.
I think it’s because putting thoughts and feelings into words is balder and scarier than painting them into a picture or weaving them into a piece of music. Henry David Thoreau called the written word “the work of art nearest to life itself”. That resonates with me.
The upshot of this is, if you find writing difficult, good! It means you genuinely care about what you’re trying to say, or the story you’re trying to tell.
Now, you just have to learn to love it.
That’s easier said than done, granted.
If you read these ramblings regularly, you’ll know I’ve been writing the same novel for a good few years. Talking about it reminds me of what parents say about having children: “you don’t know what it’s like until you’ve had one” or “yes, the birth is tough and painful, but then you get something lovely”.
That’s because writing my novel involves a strange mix of euphoria and despair. Euphoria, because when I’m in the zone it’s the best way to spend time, like my soul is in perfect alignment with itself. Despair, because the words I spew onto the page are never exactly what they meant before they were words: when they were just wisps of feeling, floating aimlessly in my head.
Sometimes I’ll think my novel is amazing. Then the next day, before I’ve even written another word, I’ll suddenly think it’s the worst book that’s ever been written (I’m not exaggerating here), and that I should just stop right now (thank you very much).
I’ve painted a weird picture, haven’t I? It’s just to illustrate that writer’s block isn’t just common, it’s perfectly natural.
Writing can be hard and emotionally draining work. So you have to love whatever you’re trying to write, but you also have to accept that it probably won’t be a breeze.
(In the novel Miss Iceland, there’s a character who’s wracked with daily guilt over the words he isn’t writing. He’s waiting for the right inspiration to come but it never does. He won’t just sit down and write, though, because for him “inspiration isn’t about output. Output is what you get when you work at unloading a ship or digging a ditch… being a poet isn’t about output.”
Meanwhile, his girlfriend — the book’s heroine and a successful writer — sits down and writes every day, whether she’s feeling inspired or not).
That’s yet another form of writer’s block, by the way.
Thinking you have to write every single day, to the exact same routine every time. That you’ve got to be a diligent machine to be successful.
You haven’t.
Yes, you should write regularly. But the lovely thing about that is you can write regularly at times that work for you. If that’s 30 minutes in the evenings, fine. If it’s a glut of time at the weekends, great. And if days, weeks, or even months should pass before you pick your writing up again, try not to beat yourself up over it.
Because there really are no ‘rules’. If you like loud background noise, play it. If “eliminating all distractions” makes you feel uncomfortable, leave your phone on. Above all, don’t rush yourself. If you love what you’re writing, trust that you’ll return to it when the time is right — with fresh eyes that might make it even better.
What if you fail?
Writer’s block comes from a nagging fear of failure, too — something I feel constantly. You might spend all that time and effort writing something nobody will want to read; or if they do, they won’t enjoy.
Well, you can’t predict what readers will like and what they won’t (who’d ever have thought 50 Shades of Grey would be the major hit it was?) so try writing something you enjoy. Personally, that’s what always pulls me through in the end.
Use your instincts and listen to your inner voice to help you determine where your story should go: if something doesn’t feel right, it probably isn’t. Keep a notebook by your bed to record your dreams and half-thoughts (Julia Cameron’s Morning Pages can be useful, too) and help your mind stay primed — naturally — for creativity.
For my part, I won’t finish a novel chapter until it gives me mental goosebumps. That can take month after month to get right, but those goosebumps are worth it. They tell me that it doesn’t matter if nobody else will like my book. I love it, and I love having created it.
What happens after that isn’t up to me, is it?
Go easy on yourself
Making friends with writer’s block means accepting the block and trusting it’ll leave (in my experience, it does). For that to happen, you have to be kind to yourself.
Be accepting of your writing ‘flaws’ and keep going in your own time. Chances are, the results will be worth it.
