Crawling Out of the Writer's Block

Sometimes it takes everything in you not to smash that blank screen. And there's that interminable cursor - blinking away as if everything were just peachy. Well, excuse me, Mr. All I do is sit here and blink while you take your sweet time thinking of how to whisk me 400 words away from here, you might think. You imagine he's egging you on. You practice mental voodoo to try and torture him. Write, dammit, write, you think. Nothing.

You convince yourself that the screen is having an effect on your long-term eye health, and proceed to make coffee to take your mind off of cancerous thoughts. Caffeine will kill that writer's block, you tell yourself. Back to the screen. Still nothing. Refill. Damn that cursor! Move, blast you, move! No response.

You begin to think about that time when you were nine and wandered into the men's bathroom, only to rush out, red-faced, to a swarm of evil fourth-graders with their wretched cackles and their smarmy fingers pointed at you. But (sigh), you still can't find a story here.

All of the advice from fellow writers, writing instructors, and your family (because they are your biggest fans until you publish that awful story about their neuroses/brain-damage/hysteria that is sure to become a best-seller) is spinning ad infinitum in your brain.

Just write what you know, says your high-school English advisor, who has since retired and will not provide the school with permission to give you her address.

Think about things you enjoy, quips your creative writing professor, seconds after telling the classroom they "probably won't do anything with their lives, so what's the point, anyway?" The next day you will turn in an assignment and she will stand with that sour face and those annoyingly springy black curls, and say, "You write like white trash."

You suddenly think of something you would enjoy that involves a blender, something wickedly acidic, and your professors most (self) esteemed articles - maybe you'll even add a lock of that curly black hair for a black-magic effect. I'll show you white trash, lady.

Images of Hollywood begin to creep in. Britney to have sex change, Paris pregnant with someone's sextuplets - but still, nothing sounds inspiring. In fact, the only thing that sounds good right about now is a toasted bagel with cream cheese. Or maybe some of last night's half-eaten cherry pie with ice cream.

The satisfaction of your looong mid-day breakfast break wears off as you begin to worry that your only hope as a writer is to submit work to the National Enquirer. Or worse: Reader's Digest.

You begin to ruffle through old poetry and school papers, hoping there's something in there that you haven't already over-used or over-quoted for credibility's sake. Everything in the pile seems adolescent and vague, or academic and wordy. The poem you wrote about your fictional dead grandmother in the seventh grade might just be your last shining glory - the last time you wrote anything good.

Time to check the "content starters" file on your desktop that you've stored for emergencies like these (which occur too often than you'd like to admit). You spot one of your favorites, You Can't Make Cheese from Breastmilk, but it just makes you bored, and boredom makes you hungry.

You take a break to eat some cheese and crackers.

Next topic: My Most Embarrassing Childhood Moment. No good. Unless you're parents are dead or insane, the material will get you killed or excommunicated from the bloodline.

Moving on, you resort to checking the clock (again) today. Only three hours have passed and you have already eaten two bagels, some cherry pie, four cups of coffee, a helping of ice cream (or two), and a serving of crackers and cheese that would make the FDA proud.

By now you have resisted checking your word count for so long, you tell yourself that three hours in, you've earned this count, dammit. Six hundred and fifty-seven. Whew. Another day in the life of a writer has come to its exhausting end. You pat yourself on the back and resume your random Internet search for more ideas to write about tomorrow.