writing through writer’s block: entry #1.
writer’s block sucks. understatement of human existence.
a few years ago when i started to seriously consider writing fiction, i realized what terrified me wayyyyy more than writing something no one other than me would want to read was writer’s block. not because i’d never had it before. i’ve always been as much of a writer as a reader — i’ve had to push past mental blocks and wade through my word vomit to find the language i wanted and needed to make a point. writing 30 pages when i damn sure didn’t start out having 30 pages worth of any thoughts, much less good ones.
but fiction feels different. you’re creating a world and populating it with characters and life and emotion. imbuing it with meaning. fiction i’m writing voluntarily feels even more different. technically, no one knows this book or anything else i’m writing is coming. there’s no one forcing me to hit my word count goals or harping on me to finish a particular scene. it’s just me.
the mere thought of future writer’s block and the prospect of being a person whose sea of creative thoughts could dry up terrified me. though i hadn’t yet written a word, i had somehow already wrapped up my self-worth with my ability to create good ideas.
what if i don’t have any ideas?
what if i can’t come up with any more new ideas?
what if all of my ideas are bad?
what if i only have one good idea?
it’s taking time to untangle them from one another, but the early stages of my writing process have shown me that writing anything means creating ideas. lots and lots of ideas. good, bad, phenomenal, odd ideas. writing a book means WRITING. not just writing something good. there’s no way for me to get to 80k, 100k, 150k words without getting something down on the page. i gotta write.
so, that’s my one writing rule: you cannot not write, maxine. you have to write something.
i make myself write through the writer’s block. it’s not easy. it’s very uncomfortable. (it’s the worst.)
the urge to return to my perfectionist ways, hit select all, and delete a day’s worth of work are always there — tempting me with better words in my brain and a blank page on the screen. but i make myself write through it. write through the not knowing if this dialogue makes sense. write through the “this is bloody awful.” write through the i have no idea what i’m doing with this plot or with my own life. i’m doing it right now.
sometimes it’s crafting core memories for my characters that might only exist in brief flashbacks or thoughts. other times, it’s describing the layout and interior design of locations my characters might visit. and more often than i like to admit, it’s vomiting out the very crappy words that simply need to get out of my head and onto the page to be rearranged or reworked or never referenced again.
writing through it is teaching me to be disciplined about making an effort for myself and to accept these less pretty versions of my work as pieces of my creativity. the pieces that have to be reshaped or discarded to craft my final work of art. my creativity holds my sublime and my shitty ideas.
i try to remind myself that i am not my words – my words are what i create. i’m allowed to write bad ones. to come up with awkward phrases and cringey scenes and downright terrible sentences. i can be okay with writing words, phrases, sentences, characters that may never end up going any further than the screen because that’s the process i need to go through to get to the ones that will.
i have writer’s block, but i have to write something.
even our favorite writers need(ed) editing.
