It is the fifth time in so many days. I pull my white, scoop-back chair up to the chocolate Parsons table where I do my writing. I flip open my laptop, flex my fingers and place them on the keyboard; I’m ready to impart something profound to the blank page, but when the cursor blinks, I freeze and then the something that happens is: nothing.
I am stuck.
A creative-type Brer Rabbit, my words are suddenly entrapped in a thick tar of psychological block and self doubt. No matter how desperately I will it, the stories won’t write. And the thorny thicket of free and easy creativity—that laughing place which holds my escape—it’s as elusive and mystifying as the literary dots I can’t connect.
Frustrated for the 50,000th time, I force myself to sit and punch keys for three hours. My perseverance is rewarded with a page full of blank and a headache the size of Texas. Resigned to artistic failure, I flutter my hands to my temples in a white flag of surrender. A sob chokes my throat. I bite my lip. Pull my hair. The head theater starts, and in the coming days of confounding self-flagellation, I do all but rent my clothes.
—–
I plop my items on the conveyor: bulk spices, organic apples, hemp milk, free-range eggs. Though I am physically present at the Whole Foods on Woodway and Voss, my mind is somewhere else entirely. I am sitting on a white, scoop-back chair. I am telling myself I suck. I am saying things like I will never be able to write anything worthwhile again. I’m like, you’d better get used to this Hänni; this block you have is permanent now, like an ugly scar, like a contract you can’t break. And I imagine the disappointment, in myself and for others, when my triumphant return to blogging proves to be a fluke … proves that all the frenetic posting pre–writers block was just a flare up before the inevitable fizzle. I blanche.
“Ma’am, are you OK?” the cashier—all dreadlocks and tattoos—inquires.
Suddenly I’m awakened from my angsty, self-involved stupor. I tell him I’m fine. But the way I say it, with my voice rising at the end of the sentence, it sounds like a question and not a statement of fact. Dude lifts his eyebrows, unconvinced.
“Your total is $42.67,” he intones. “Oh, and by the way, whatever it is, it will all work out.”
“I’m sure you’re right,” I say, lying through my teeth.
—–
I don’t want to jinx it, but I think my writer’s block is on the wane. And just how did I banish that importunate beast? By brandishing my shiny sword of gratitude.
For all the nights it’s kept me awake—the molasses of my creative malcontent stewing even as I lay my head to sleep—writer’s block has thrown into sharp relief all the things that ARE working in my life.
I am healthy. I am happy. I am loved.
And also, I am gainfully employed as a writer. Even when I can’t string two sentences together for this blog, in my professional life the words are steadfast. Sure it’s unsexy drafting technical content for enterprise software solutions, but my fulltime job guarantees a tidy, bi-weekly paycheck … writer’s block or no.
In this season of thanksgiving, I am appreciative. For writer’s block, its lessons learned, and its quick departure thereafter, I am eternally grateful. Thanks.
(photo credit: nateOne@flickr)
Hänni… you bring a smile to my face as per usual.
I’m reminded for some reason, of a sports metaphor. (Know now that I am not very sporty, so this is clearly weird. I was in the band, not on the football team.) I think I’ve heard it said that trying to hit one out of the park while up to bat is one of the surest ways of failing to hit a home run.
Now to my utterly unsolicited advice:
o) practice your craft (you already do it all the time… writers don’t have to sit in front of their medium of choice in order to create.)
o) try to trust that you have it in you (we’ve all seen it, and we all appreciate it.)
o) accept that not every trip to the plate will result in a four-bagger (but don’t ask me what “four-bagger” brings to mind instead of baseball.)
Writing this out reminds me of how I feel blocked in so much of my own pursuits. I feel your pain. I know this struggle. I also know that if I’d listen to my own advice, I’d be better off.
So… Thank you. I didn’t intend for this to be self-serving, but I got a lot out of your post and a lot out of responding to it. Yay!
Good one Hanni! Yeah keep on writing; your worst day blogging is better than most peoples’ best day writing. One thing though: are you sure you are paid bimonthly not biweekly? Doesn’t bimonthly mean every 2 months? Hopefully the software company I used to work for hasn’t gone to those lengths!
i agree with you babe.There are so many things that we can all be thankful about this Thanksgiving.I am thankful to have you in my life.
I like this one ! Every day is a blessing. Oh and if you get paid twice a month – say the 1st and the 15th – that’s semi-monthly. Ha! I should know – you’re talkin’ to the old payroll gal. (Did you get the Women’s Dictionary?)
I’m still working on how to get those two dots over your a.
I know the feeling, sort of. Here I am, complaining about having trouble finding a new job (not on my blog, work people read that), and there are tons of people without work. Makes me feel like a bratty, entitled, Gen Y stereotype. Sometimes we need random actions or things to put life back in perspective. Like not getting your “dream” job.
Lovely post! I declare your writer’s block completely null and void since you churned out such a thoughtful piece.
I’ve learned that gratitude is much easier to acknowledge when you aren’t stuck in a job you despise, with a killer commute, and a paltry pay check. Since switching jobs and fixing all of those daily gripes I’m now able to feel exponentially grateful every single day.
PS: For people who don’t know how to add the umlauts to Hänni’s name – You key in “option” + “u” on a Mac and for Windows you key in “Alt” + “132.”
“I am healthy. I am happy. I am loved.” I need to repeat this every morning, I think.
I’m very! thankful for you, dear friend.