This happens every year. I have visions of all of the things I’ll get done while he’s gone, yet accomplish only a fraction of them. The five-day power outage and the resulting clean-up didn’t help matters. It’s a convenient excuse.
I’d say I’m not sure where the time went, but I’m pretty sure I spent a lot of it in front of a blank screen saying crap, crap, crap, crap, with a mind as clean as the text box in front of me. This spell of writer’s block does remind me of how important it is to get out in the world. The image of the hermit writer may be a common stereotype, but without input and observation, my mind goes blank. After hours of practice, music cataloging, and various long-ignored household chores, I’m totally prepared to write about nothing of any interest to anyone.
I had yet another “I hate camp” text session with my son, and I asked him if we could talk about something else because he was getting repetitive. He accused me of using him for content. I told him that’s what writers do. He also told me he showers once a week. I find that both frightening and more than a little disgusting. Which reminds me that I said I’d scour his bathroom with disinfectant. Maybe I should wait until he gets back.
I found a box of old journals. I thought perhaps they’d provide some inspiration. After skimming them, I conclude that I whine a lot. My writing is also very messy. The apple really doesn’t fall far from the tree.
I got out of the house. I went shopping. I saw a movie. My great insights? Shopping malls and restaurants set their air conditioning too cold, and Magic Mike is a very, very bad movie, but Channing Tatum has a really nice booty. I also got some very nice shoes at clearance prices.
And here I am, staring at the blank screen again, but with one sweep of the hand, I’m feeling at least a little better. I still have nothing to write about but finally caught the effin’ fruit fly.
How do you get past writer’s block? Share!