I’ve got writer’s block.
For four consecutive days, I have written posts that, had they been written on paper, would have been screwed up and thrown with vicious force across the room. Some were a few lines long; others were just about ready for publishing, but all went down the plug-hole with a quick tap on the delete button.
I have tried to write about my kids, my feelings, Miley Cyrus; you know, all the important things. But nothing is happening. It doesn’t flow. Everything I write is boring. And, let’s face it, if it is boring me to the point where gouging my eyes out would be a better alternative than having to read one more word; then, hey, it ain’t doing a lot for my readers (all two of them).
It doesn’t help that old blog envy is resurfacing again (again? When did it ever leave?). Everyone, everywhere, is producing ingeniously hilarious work, or words so full of emotion that they literally leave a gaping hole where your heart used to be. All this, completely in their stride; not so much as a hint of heavy breathing, nor a drop of sweat on their totally unfurrowed brow. Why is it so easy for them, and so hard for me? What did they ever do that was so great? Apart from write blogs that I wish were mine, that is.
Goodness, and here’s me wondering why my motivation has run screaming towards the nearest exit.
In my head, my words sound so amazingly descriptive, bursting with humour or emotion; they still sound pretty good as I am typing them. So, what the hell happens between then, and when I read them? Because, I tell you, the words in my head do not correspond to the ones I read. Does a word-troll jump in and re-arrange them just to piss me off? What is that all about? Is it a recognised phenomenon? If not, perhaps we should invent one. Write up a Wikipedia page. Oh, hang on. Is there any way we can get around the writing bit? Not going down too well in these parts just now. What should we call this phenomenon? How about: “I think I am shit hot, when really I am just shit”. Yeah. That’ll work.
Perhaps I am getting it all wrong. Perhaps I need to stop reading my work back. Yes, maybe I am on to something. I could just bash out a post, and publish. Ta-da! Okay, I need to stop this now. I am just about to give myself a heart attack here. Not read back? No editing? Not going to happen. Most of the time I spend writing my blog posts is in the editing; over, and over, and over again. If I posted my first draft, people would stop reading after the first three words; or report me to the I’m-a-crap-writer police. I’d serve heavy time for my crime, for sure.
I know you can’t force the issue. I know.
And actually, writing about not being able to write, is oddly motivating. Like, if you are writing about not writing about something, you are not really writing at all, so therefore it doesn’t count. I will have to remember that one in the future.