There are days when I wake up and already have words, queued up inside my head, ready to write. Of course, there are many (many) days when this is not the case, but I’ll take what I can get.
Today I woke up with two complete sentences already formed, the beginnings of two separate thoughts. The only trouble with these disparate, detached words is that they don’t come with any context. A sentence, or an image, maybe a snippet of dialogue, but no plot, no premise.
So, what do I do with them? What is the point? Perhaps they arrive to remind me about writer’s block, and how thoroughly it has stunned me. How new words are easy, but old words move through sap, stuck where the amount of effort to reach them exceeds the amount of energy I have to spare.
Perhaps they appear to remind me of my dreams. That despite my track record and current struggle, I still want to publish a book. This year.
Maybe these uncontextualized thoughts are simply meant to be fed to the fire, to fuel what little motivation I can muster.
I think I’d like the point of all this musing to resolve itself into a commitment. A resolution to slough through the mess until I reach those fossilized words and drag them back with me.
The trouble with that thought is that I’m already overwhelmed. A promise sounds like yet another task to add to the pile of twenty-two other things I already manage on a weekly basis, and I’m not anxious (well, I am) to add another thing to my plate. Except. I want to be a writer.
I want to have the motivation and follow-through to complete projects and make this my full-time work. I have the inspiration. I have the longing, the need inside me.
Picturing it is easy. A desk, a plant, my laptop and a well-lit room. A cozy blanket on my lap and a notebook nearby. Smiling, stretching, dreaming. Phone calls and laughter and sitting upside-down on my couch trying to get the ideas flowing.
Possibly you’ve guessed by now that I’m trying to wind myself up enough to make the aforementioned commitment. However, the issue with making promises to yourself is that they’re much easier to break.
Maybe I’m putting too much pressure on it. The weight of a whole dream doesn’t need to fall on this one idea. It is one of many, and I’m determined there will be many more.
What is the answer? I think the bottom line is that something needs to change. I haven’t determined what yet, but I am reaching the end of my tolerance for not writing. I suppose asking for support is one option I haven’t really considered, possibly because it galls me. But something needs to change.
That is a commitment that I think I can make. Change something. And hopefully it will catapult me back into my life.
TL;DR: Writer’s block is difficult to overcome but I will start by changing something.