“On writing, my advice is the same to all. If you want to be a writer, write. Write and write and write. If you stop, start again. Save everything that you write. If you feel blocked, write through it until you feel your creative juices flowing again.”
Writer’s block; what is meant by “block”? Barricade? Wall? Traffic Jam? Writing is a process I thoroughly enjoy. I find great pleasure in getting my thoughts down onto paper, organizing them and finding them absolutely normal and manageable. Unfortunately, there isn’t always time to write. Months or maybe even years go by and there just isn’t opportunity to go through that therapeutic process. Then the thoughts begin to pile up, and pile up. At that point, for me, it would best be called “writer’s constipation”! I sit down to write and it isn’t that I’ve got nothing – it’s that I’ve got so much clogged up in there that it hurts to think. I don’t know where to start and I feel very overwhelmed.
I could write about why I haven’t written in over a year, almost two. How I spent an entire day over Christmas break cleaning up my blog; reorganizing it and giving it a brand new look in hopes of reinstating my favorite hobby in 2013. I could write about the pains and triumphs in 2012, or the hopes for the year ahead. I could tell the stories I’ve been conjuring for years. I could play at poetry or essay a random topic. I could share some insight on my recent Bible Studies or maybe share elements of my prayers. It’s all in there waiting to come out.
If I had a weekend away, all holed up and alone, it would not be enough time to process it all. And there it is, the problem for me. I want to process it all, right now! So in comes that feeling of being overwhelmed and tempted to walk away because there is just too much writing to be done! But I am seeing Mrs. Rice is right. As I write this little snippet of nothing, I am beginning to think clearly; to think rationally. I cannot catch up on all my thoughts. I cannot write them all down in a day. It’s as if lack of practice has built a dam and my thoughts lie in a stagnate pool behind it. Writing, just writing, writing nothing, writing about writing, is practice and practice is the antithesis of all that the dam, of all that the blockage, of all that writer’s block is all about.
I have put a chink in the dam today. Words may only trickle onto the page for a while, but eventually the dam will burst and this stagnate pool will move ahead, the thoughts will flow onto paper, and I will be writing again! (I hope! There’s always the chance that the beaver is faster at patching than I am of widening the hole.)