As a rule, writers love to write about writer’s block. In every book I’ve read about writing (yes, writers like to read about writing too), there’s a chapter devoted to advice about how to beat it, bear it, or ignore it.
Here are my thoughts on the subject: aaaauuuuurrrrgghghghghghgggggkphx
Sidenote: My writer’s block is not “I have nothing to write!” I have plenty of ideas. I’m still alive, aren’t I? It’s more of the “I suck” variety.
|This is more like it.|
This was my week of writer’s block, which, strangely enough, coincided with a week of listlessness, depression, and increased levels of angst. There was even a brief moment in which I considered hanging it all and become a something else that wasn’t a writer. I always liked math, for instance. Then my math education housemate explained something about circles being the answer to everything because prime numbers have a probability π squared over six of being second cousins. Or something.
So it’s back to being a writer for me and my week of angst is over. Finished. Kaput. Writing is writing. Some of it sucks, some of its great and most of the time you have to write 120 pages in order to get 3 good ones. I can now say that from experience.
On the back of my fiction writing syllabus are these encouraging words from a professor:
“This is the life of a writer: you write, you read, you write, you write again, you revise, you throw everything away, you read, and you write. It is, as Flaubert has said, a dog’s life—but for some, it’s the only life worth living. So do not fear it.”