Talking about my writer’s block and finding my way back
Two or more years ago I jinxed myself:
I told another writer that I could write myself out of a paper bag (whatever that was supposed to mean), had no problem with writer’s block, and felt I was on my way (wherever that might be, I was certain it was a good writerly place).
I don’t remember if the well dried right away, but it did dry. My cup no longer runneth over with words. That voice that ran like a commentary in my head was silenced.
And, maybe it wasn’t really being jinxed by my writorial (not a word) arrogance but by the pandemic or the sudden death of Scout (for which I was unprepared and felt too (is that even possible?) deeply) or the fact that I began working from home and didn’t interact with the colleagues who always stimulated my brain.
At a certain point, the cause no longer matters but the lack of words does.
Writing lethargy takes its toll and what I wanted to be since I was knee-high to a grasshopper (you’ve got to love that phrase for its imagery) and dreamed about seemed unlikely, especially when I hit an age with a 0 at the end of it and wondered if it was too late. Why would we ever think anything was too late? Because our society prizes youth? Because people like Mark Zuckerberg say that “young people are just smarter?” (Which is wrong on so many levels.) Get out old person; you’ve had your chance! Oh, but sometimes, for whatever reason, we haven’t and we should never let go of dreams before trying to make them come true. Regardless of age or what society or even ourselves think we’re capable of.
So, you may have noticed an uptick in my writing. I hope you enjoy some of it (all of it would be that whipped cream and cherry on top) while I try to find my way back to being a writer. If you’re facing a similar situation, rest assured that I won’t tell you to “just write.” I’m very aware of the limitations of that phrase. All the best.