Blocked.

It’s obnoxious.

Dare I say, painful?

It physically hurts. And it’s lasted for more than a week.

I’m starting to get concerned.

Writer’s block that I can’t seem to overcome. I even attempted the trick where I start out writing about my writer’s block, which I’ve read can help. People seemingly stuck in their tracks find a way to write through the block, prose bursts forth and they’re writing a masterpiece. Ok, probably not a masterpiece but at least the start of a rough, really rough, 1st draft. But me? I keep asking questions: why is this happening? Why can’t I seem to break through? What type of writer am I? The questions are endless and with each new question the words seem farther away.

Yesterday I was at my wit’s end, and turned to writing in my journal. I figured if I couldn’t write a story at least I could write about how I felt about not being able to write. With each sentence my anxiety grew until I couldn’t stop writing—in capital letters. I was essentially yelling at myself in my journal. Who does this? With each swipe of the pen on paper, my frustration mounted until I just started scribbling on the page, essentially ripping it from the binding and then promptly burst into tears. Until there was nothing left.

But then? One breath, followed by another. I sat with my mangled Moleskine. I attempted to compose myself and gather my thoughts. I walked away from yesterday’s writing session with silence and a bit of clarity. I suppose sometimes you have to break down everything (barriers, preconceived notions, your mental state) in order to start from scratch and rebuild.

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One thought on “Blocked.

  1. … and it’s also January in a season where all sensible species hibernate 🙂

    Thanks for putting your blog link up on the WordPress Bloggers page at SheWrites Erin. Do visit a few of us and leave a comment, I am sure you’ll receive some interested return visitors. My solace came these past few days from immersing in a few good nature essays and listening while reading. Bonne Continuation!

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