The Infinite Melancholy of the 3-ton-o-shit Writer’s Block

April 13th, 2009

Student: How do you eat an elephant?
Teacher: One bite at a time.

Writer: How do you deal with 3-ton-o-shit writer’s block?
God: (silence)

Thanks for nothing, God.
Thanks for nothing, God.

What is 3-ton-o-shit Writer’s Block?

It’s that not-so-fresh feeling of a writer who can’t seem to write, despite tons of ideas.

Some writers stare at a blank screen with a blank brain.
But me, I stare at the blank screen with an overloaded brain.

I wanna write. I really do. Everyday, the ideas keep on coming and piling onto the previous day’s ideas.

Then the previous week’s ideas.

Then month.

Etc., etc. and so forth.

Now there’s a nutty taste in my mouth and a heaviness in my gut. I sit on my chair, waiting for the ideas to drop.

And sometimes, it pokes its head out – only to jump back inside again.

I am soooo backed-up, it’s ridonkulous.
I am soooo backed-up, it’s ridonkulous.

And the Experts Say…

People have offered me many suggestions on how to get over this 3-ton-o-shit writer’s block.

There is the “get on with it” camp, who basically say: “you just put ass on seat and you sit there until you get (x) word count. No ifs-and-or-BUTS.”

Then there is the “feed your creativity” camp: “read an inspiring book. Look at nature. Make friends with ladybugs. I hear that the latest (artsy movie) has scintillating dialogue.”

Yea, well maybe I’ve tried all the above. And I still have the 3-ton-o-shit writer’s block. So now what?

(silence)
(silence)

Insane in the Membrane

Thing is, the 3-ton-o-shit writer’s block has a momentum that only 3-tons of anything can have. It might as well be a fucking meteorite that somehow crashed into my body.

It’s like a parasite worm, feeding off my blood. It gets plump and juicy and start to grow bigger and bigger. The little sips of blood turn into mouthfuls and then gulps.

Soon, I’ll be walking around looking like a shriveled Egyptian mummy. People, pray for me!
there isn’t any energy left for much else.

Bloggers Can Kiss My Backed-Up Ass

Ew, disturbing image.

But seriously – people who are writing blog entries, essays, and other non-fiction bits can all stop trying to give me advice on how to shit out my stories.

I write fiction. It’s a whole different animal.

Look, I’m writing this blog entry. It’s a fucking joke, how easy it is to write this, compared to fiction or especially poetry.

In non-fiction, you tell it like it is. You aim for clarity.

In fiction, you add nuances. You aim for clarity by obscuring the truth. You mask the image with gossamer words, so that it looks more like itself than itself.

Basically, fiction makes bullshit into roses.

I’m just looking for magic.
Pure and simple.

category: rants