On Dealing with Writer’s Block

When I sat down to write a post today, I faced my computer screen with that familiar “deer in the headlights” look. Microsoft Word was open, the page was blank, and the cursor repeatedly blinked at me, waiting for me to turn thoughts into words. But nothing came. My first irrational thought: well it’s happened, I’ve lost my writing talent. It’s slipped away, out of my reach, much like Samantha’s orgasm on that episode of Sex and the City. My second, somewhat less emotional thought: okay, clearly I have the dreaded WRITER’S BLOCK. I could not put pen to paper, or fingers to keyboard, I should say. I couldn’t even come up with a decent title, for Christ sake. Side note – I still don’t think the title for this post is all that great. So if you have any better ideas, please let me know.

And then another Sam came to mind – Samuel Langhorne Clemens. Although some of you might know him better by his pen name, Mark Twain. Now while I’m not necessarily in the league of Mr. Twain, I am smart enough to heed some of his advice:

The secret of getting ahead is getting started.

And so that’s what I did – I started typing, figuring something would come to me. Even if it is just me rambling on about my suffering from writer’s block. I’m still entertaining nevertheless, right? Don’t invalidate my feelings now, come on.

But what some people fail to realize is that sometimes, writing is a bitch. It doesn’t always come easy, and for whatever reason, I am suffering from a creative blockage right now. Probably because I mainly write from my personal experiences and lessons, all of which have been basically zero given the fact that I have been holed up in my house for the entire month of April. Thanks again for that, cornea.

But before I throw myself a pity party (which you all are invited to, by the way, because let’s face it, misery loves company), let me get back to the affliction many creative souls suffer from. Sometimes my head is just spinning with ideas, but to be frank, those ideas just suck. You deserve better than hearing about the adventures I have from my living room couch and the mocha colored blanket next to me that needs to be thrown into the washing machine. Essentially, some of my thoughts just aren’t worth talking about. Some are annoying, some don’t pan out, and some I just won’t share. A girl has to have some semblance of mystery to her, right? At least that’s what society is constantly reminding me. And sometimes I’ll start to write something, and say to myself, “Sam, what the hell are you even saying?”

Rachel and Ross

And sometimes with writer’s block, the English language just doesn’t do the idea or the thought or the feeling justice. Let’s face it, we have demolished the beauty of the English language. We employ terms like selfie and twerk and…cakepop? What inbred moron decided it was a good idea to add these to the Oxford English Dictionary? For example, when talking about love, we typically cover issues like men can be assholes and women can be crazy. If only there were more Shakespeareans out there to dole out love advice that actually sounded beautiful. Maybe something like this:

The sweetest honey is loathsome in its own deliciousness. And in the taste destroys the appetite. Therefore, love moderately.

London Style

So you see, sometimes words fail. And when that happens, music succeeds.

Or as aforementioned, the mind has a vasectomy of sorts and starts shooting blanks. Like I said, I started this entire thing by staring at a blank page, and my mind being a blank slate. Before I got to this point, I stared at the screen for a solid 24 minutes, and then Instagram beckoned me. I had absolutely no idea what to write about, yet here I am. Please forgive me if I sound like I’m rambling. Like I said, staying indoors for weeks on end can make anyone feel something akin to what Jack Nicholson went through in the final scenes of The Shining. It’s okay though, I have yet to begin muttering “Redrum” around the house, and I still know my name is Sam, not Tony.

Pretty much my level of insanity.

Pretty much my level of insanity.

Luckily for me, the cure for my writer’s block is just within reach. My first full day out of the house is tomorrow, and although that means I’ll be back in the office, at least that will (hopefully) get the juices flowing. And if not, at least I still have my orgasms.

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