As someone whose very livelihood depends on churning out ideas and creatively sharing inner most thoughts the words ‘writer’s block’ send a shiver down a scribe’s spine.
This week I have been plagued with thoughts of inadequacy which in turn kills my creativity.
Ideas are everywhere. Inspiration can come from a snippet of conversation or something you read, a memory, a dream, a desire but for that kernel of an idea to turn into words on a page you need another part of your brain to high five yourself and give that idea weight, and space to grow.
Writers block is not no ideas or words, writers block is something far uglier. Writers block is when you hate everything you think or write.
Writers block is DOUBT.
I don’t know why this insidious DOUBT has crept into my head this week but I know it makes me feel incredibly anxious. And a little bit teary to be really honest about it.
I feel a tad pathetic for entertaining it, but I can’t just pretend I’m not feeling as though a horrible shroud that has crept over me.
What if my incredible run of lucky words is over? What if I hate everything I write forever more? What else can I do without words?
What else can I do?
My logical brain knows that this will pass but my monkey brain allows this DOUBT to do a nudie run through the football field of my brain and it begins to creep into other areas of my life.
I start to look at the shitty bits instead of focussing on the awesome bits.
I start to wonder why anyone even gives a shit what I think because who the hell am I anyway?
I spoke to some wonderful writer friends of mine and they said that sometimes they feel that way too. That made me feel better. It’s always nice to know that you’re not alone in your neurosis and self doubting.
Safety in numbers.
And then one of my fabulous writer friends suggested I write about it, and just tell the world that I’m not always on fire and that sometimes I struggle with my creativity.
Because that’s ok, you know.
I thought at the very least it could be like therapy and I could talk about this blockage I have that feels so similar to constipation. I sit at my desk and I push and push, straining and sweating and then maybe I pass a nugget of a paragraph that leaves me feeling incredibly unsatisfied.
I’m fairly versed with constipation. At the various times it’s plagued me I eat some prunes and drink large amounts of water, maybe even scoff some Nulax and wait, but this? I don’t know what to do, except keep writing in hope that I can just write the Nulax paragraph that gets me moving again.
Enough poo metaphors for one post. I think I’m feeling a bit better already.
I really liked those two paragraphs back there.
Maybe they were the roughage I needed.