A cure for writer’s block

June 23, 2009 03:42 pm

— Gene Fowler once said, “Writing is easy. All you have to do is stare at a blank sheet of paper until drops of blood form on your forehead.”
A smart man, Fowler was.
Oh, I’m not going to launch into a series of complaints about how my job stinks. I know better than that. My job is actually pretty darn cool.
But the fact of the matter is for every four great days I have — days when words come pouring smoothly out of me, when coverage and critique alike are as natural as breathing — there’s one day when I could sooner sweat blood than write a coherent sentence.
And really, I don’t know why.
I’ve tried since college to crack the code of writer’s block, to figure out if there’s something I’m doing to block that flow of prose myself. I know we all have to deal with it in this business, but are we doing it to ourselves?
After years of research, I’m disappointed to report I still have no idea what causes writer’s block. But I do know what DOESN’T cause it.
I know lack of sleep can’t possibly cause writer’s block because I always have my best ideas at 3:30 a.m.
I know poor diet can’t possibly cause writer’s block, because I wrote some great stuff in college living on Ramen noodles.
I know stress can’t possibly cause writer’s block, because during campaign season, I managed to turn out some top-notch work. And local politics are a stress unlike any other.
I know a lack of passion about your subject can’t possibly cause writer’s block ... I’ll just leave that one be.
But the fact of the matter is, I sit here today staring at a blinking cursor, knowing there’s a big empty spot on a newspaper page waiting to be built. I can see my own picture staring back at me, taunting me ... “You’ve committed to write this column every week! Say something witty! Be insightful about society! Entertain! Jump, JUMP!”
And it’s times like these I think I must be the most uninteresting person in the world.
Or maybe, just maybe, I’m not. Maybe my purpose in life is to uncover a cure for writer’s block. Maybe, in the course of my journey through with this dreaded affliction, I’ll develop a magic formula. Maybe, because I persevered when my brain was turned to goo, no one else will ever have to go through this horror again. The blight of the blank page will be stricken from the Earth, and all because I cared enough to keep writing, even when I had nothing to say.
Oh yes, now I feel important. This is definitely worth waking up for. A new lease on life, if you will.
Next week, I’ll tackle another famous quote. Oscar Wilde said, “True friends stab you in the front.” Let’s try and solve that one, shall we?