What We’re Reading: Festering Writer’s Block
I’ve been experiencing a rather nasty bout of writer’s block lately. The kind of writer’s block that makes me think of Meg Ryan in French Kiss: “Fester, fester, fester. Rot, rot, rot.” In my desperation, I’ve even taken to Googling writer’s block, hoping Google will spit something intelligent at me. Ha, good luck, right? This time, I got lucky. I found THIS article, “Blocked” by Joan Acocella, from a 2004 New Yorker (old, but hey, writer’s block doesn’t age… or does it?).
Apparently, Samuel Taylor Coleridge was the first case of hitting the block, not writing much “serious poetry” after his twenties. Acocella argues that writer’s block is a contemporary invention, starting with the Romantics who felt that true art could not be forced into being. The article also points out, however, that while Coleridge didn’t write gobs of poetry after his initial burst, he was very active in the journalistic community throughout his life… so perhaps at least this blog will do me good?
Or, take this guy (in Acocella’s words):
Every day for years, [Anthony] Trollope reported in his ‘Autobiography,’ he woke in darkness and wrote from 5:30 a.m. to 8:30 a.m., with his watch in front of him. He required of himself two hundred and fifty words every quarter of an hour. If he finished one novel before eight-thirty, he took out a fresh piece of paper and started the next. The writing session was followed, for a long stretch of time, by a day job with the postal service. Plus, he said, he always hunted at least twice a week. Under this regimen, he produced forty-nine novels in thirty-five years.
People like Trollope make me sick. But honestly, I suppose we could all use a teaspoon of that self-discipline. A teaspoon, mind you, not the full measure of crazy. Allow for some spontaneity, pretty please.
On the other end of the spectrum, psychoanalyst Edmund Bergler even went so far as to blame the cause of writer’s block on the writer’s mothers who denied them milk to the point of starvation as babies. Not surprisingly, he also thought all writers were mentally unstable. I’ve always disliked psychoanalysts…
Somewhere in the middle of all these concepts and psychological explanations of writer’s block, lies something closer to my approach. I do need a bit o’ self-discipline. It’s a good thing that I have this blog, to start conversations with other writers about road blocks, writing prompts, favorite authors and books. And I am still technically writing every day, between this blog, my day job, and my sporadic creative writing. I’ve resolved not to let myself get to this level of desperation in the future. If I hit a wall again, my plan is to keep writing, and not stress myself out about the quality. Hey, if Sammy Coleridge can do it, so can I.
Honestly, what most often works for me is to go sit out in a park and watch some kids stick rocks up their noses, or go back to my parents’ farm and watch my mother’s chickens talk to each other. Anything outdoors to let my mind wander, take the pressure off. I also re-read my favorite authors and poets, reminding myself of what good writing sounds like. Finally, Hazel and I are fond of silly word games, which can always spark a good poem idea. My go-to game? Think of as many words that start with the letter [fill in the blank here] in four minutes, starting NOW! Sounds simple (and it is), but it usually gets the juices flowing.
Think I’m boring, and want to read someone else on the subject? Go to MN Playlist (where I found the link to the New Yorker article) and read Matt Geachy’s very insightful spin on the block.
Tell me, dear reader, what do you do to drive the smelly demon of writer’s block away? Any sage tricks up your sleeve? Pray, do tell.
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I was once told that travel is a great way to get the creative juices flowing, to which I replied, “Great! Where’s my plane ticket?” For those of us who can’t jetset to brilliant places around the globe, stepping sideways within our own tiny universes can do the trick. When I’m in a rut I’ll take a different route to get to a familiar place and challenge myself to find at least one thing I’ve never noticed before. Then I write it down, ruminate on it and explore it a bit. Call it a small revolution.
Making a list of things you’re thankful for is also a nice way to start wondering about the little things (and cheer you up if you’re feeling down). Example: today I’m thankful for the unexpected extra fifteen minute break between jobs so I could get a sandwich; I’m thankful for finding a parking spot in downtown St. Paul; i’m thankful for the sunshine on my morning run…
Finally, I think Wren’s right that reading your favorite writers can help, but I don’t think it’s just a reminder of what good writing is like. I find that it’s a reaffirmation of the necessity of [insert your genre here]. Reminding myself why I believe poetry is necessary can do wonders for my creativity.
I completely agree that travel is a huge writing inspiration. In my own experience, however, I’ve found that usually when I’m traveling, I’m way too busy soaking everything in to be able to muster up any notable output, other than journal entries. It’s not until I am back home, or in a quieter, more familiar (and therefore not so distracting) place, that I can begin to process everything and formulate new expressions. Travel (and any new thing in general) for me is a great creative instigator (as well as valuable in many other mind- and experience-broadening ways), but the real work only happens when I go into some form of retreat.
I love your trick, Timothy, of finding new things in every day life, because it’s so true that you don’t need to go to the other side of the world to notice previously unseen things, and break out of a rut.
And as for Mr. Trollope up there, he doesn’t make me sick, like Wren. He makes me quite envious. It obviously worked for him… and although I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t be able to keep up that kind of schedule, just think of all that one could accomplish if even half of every day was utilized with such efficiency!
That’s a fair point about travel, Hazel, though for myself I make notes in between journaling. Things like, “write this poem” or even a line or two that I can use to enter into the poem later. I suppose that’s a form of discipline too.
As for Trollope’s trick, I do that too, to an extent. I’m not quite as intense about it, but once I receive my weekly work schedule I mark in times throughout the week to write. Some days it’s only an hour, others it’s all day, but I try to schedule some time every day. If at all possible keeping consistant hours week to week is helpful to me doing this. As I said, I’m not nearly as much of a stickler as Trollope was – some weeks I’m unable to schedule any writing time – but this method has worked for me in the past. Actually writing things down in a planner or on a calendar can be a good tactic for sticking to a writing regimen.
This one is really hard, but sometimes shutting off your internet for a few hours will help keep you focused. Or just buy a typewriter and shut down the computer entirely!