So what do you write about when you can’t write? When you’ve been looking at a computer screen for the past 9 hours with nothing to show for it? When everything you thought to be worth writing is now rendered worthless as it is read by no one?
I’m not sure.
I have this problem every once in a while. Some people call it writers block. I’m not really sure why it’s called that. There isn’t an actual block that they pass around like hot potato to see who gets stuck with it… “Oh, Sorry Ralph (Waldo Emerson), you can’t write for about a week. It looks like the entire literary world will have to suffer through seven more days of unenlightened prose until your block is taken by someone else.’ Watch out F. Scott... you're next.
Now, I’m not claiming Ralph Waldo status… doing so might get me thrown out of many writers ‘Circles’ (If you get that joke, I tip my hat to you.)… But for some reason, the usual fluidity, the non ceasing thought process that continually flows more and more and more… so much that you’re actually laughing to yourself at the pure genius of it all, as you can hardly type fast enough to get it all down… that sweet enjoyment of putting thought after thought on paper and connecting them one at a time by daring and outlandish means… yeah… that thing… is gone.
Why? Because I’ve been thinking about what really matters to people. To me. To you. To someone reading these words right… about… NOW. …
I think I’ve learned that I can’t write about anything of importance. I’ve tried. Hard. And because most of the things that have been going on lately are important to me… I am unable to find non essential things to write about.
As much as I’d like to be able to write about what really matters, to really open up and show what’s inside… I can’t. Not even if I’m the only one to ever read what’s written.
But the ironic thing is, as I look back at the other things I’ve written, I can find a small piece of me inside the words… a vulnerable, unaltered, tell-all piece of me. And maybe I wasn’t trying to hide it, or maybe I was… either way it’s there, and I found it. Can you?
Showing posts with label writers block. Show all posts
Showing posts with label writers block. Show all posts
Monday, June 14, 2010
Saturday, January 31, 2009
Readers Block
Some of you have been wondering why I haven't put up a new post in a while. Actually, I just made that up because no one has inquired at all... Now, some of you are going to respond to this post saying, "Yeah, Bart, I was wondering." Or, "Sorry Bart, I just had twins." Or, "Sorry Bart I just broke up with my girlfriend." Or "Sorry Bart, I've been really busy blogging and then reading the comments on my blog." Don't give me your pity and don't give me your excuses. Excuses are for the weak. And I shalln't be happy with you.
(And yes, I just said shalln't... that's a contraction. If you take Shall and Not and put them together you get shalln't. Common knowledge. Anyone with a 5th grade reading level knows that. And if you're not yet in 5th grade... you shouldn't be reading my blog, it definitely isn't appropriate for innocent minds. In fact, you shouldn't even be on the internet. What do YOU have to do on the internet? You're eleven. Go play with G.I. Joes, get muddy, and break some windows.)
Sidenote: I'm seriously going to be the coolest dad.
I've had a serious case of writers block. My usual free-flowing genius in my saggital suture (yes, the noun) has been replaced by some idiot who decided he likes to worry about life. So I decided to write about not being able to write. Ironic? I think so.
My writing process usually goes like this:
1) Toss and turn sleeplessly for hours while my brain fumbles accross meaningless ideas and scenarios and topics.
2) Flip on my reading lamp and scramble exhaustedly for a scrap piece of paper and a pen.
3) Scribble whatever nonsense entered my head or is now entering my head as I lick the pen tip for more ink.
4) The next day, sort through the chicken scratch and find some way to connect it all.
Then I post it for everyone's enjoyment. Then, sometimes, I re-read what I wrote and realize that no one in their right mind would enjoy this and that I am wasting precious moments of time that you, and I, will never get back. Then sometimes I re-read it just so I can say I doubley wasted extra precious moments of time. And then I realize I enjoy it.
(And yes, I just said shalln't... that's a contraction. If you take Shall and Not and put them together you get shalln't. Common knowledge. Anyone with a 5th grade reading level knows that. And if you're not yet in 5th grade... you shouldn't be reading my blog, it definitely isn't appropriate for innocent minds. In fact, you shouldn't even be on the internet. What do YOU have to do on the internet? You're eleven. Go play with G.I. Joes, get muddy, and break some windows.)
Sidenote: I'm seriously going to be the coolest dad.
I've had a serious case of writers block. My usual free-flowing genius in my saggital suture (yes, the noun) has been replaced by some idiot who decided he likes to worry about life. So I decided to write about not being able to write. Ironic? I think so.
My writing process usually goes like this:
1) Toss and turn sleeplessly for hours while my brain fumbles accross meaningless ideas and scenarios and topics.
2) Flip on my reading lamp and scramble exhaustedly for a scrap piece of paper and a pen.
3) Scribble whatever nonsense entered my head or is now entering my head as I lick the pen tip for more ink.
4) The next day, sort through the chicken scratch and find some way to connect it all.
Then I post it for everyone's enjoyment. Then, sometimes, I re-read what I wrote and realize that no one in their right mind would enjoy this and that I am wasting precious moments of time that you, and I, will never get back. Then sometimes I re-read it just so I can say I doubley wasted extra precious moments of time. And then I realize I enjoy it.
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