It happens to even the best of writers, so I didn’t have much chance of sidestepping the proverbial wall that is writer’s block. It comes suddenly, with enough force to flatten a forest of creativity. Somehow, words stop working. Or, at least, that’s how it’s viewed. Conventional understanding says writer’s block requires a change of some variety to necessarily remove the road block. Maybe, though, it just means taking a different road.
What happens when writer’s block hits is maddening; it’s never when writing is optional that the block appears. A necessary piece of writing has come down to the eleventh hour (and fifty-ninth minute), and the words just have to appear. Somehow, in a momentary frenzy, fingers have to blur into words and sentences, with just a touch of coherence dripped in, too. That is when writer’s block hits, like a freight train unexpectedly off its tracks. Fingers rattle uselessly across the keyboard, while letters jumble together.
Writing, it would seem, is hopeless. Unless maybe, just maybe, writer’s block doesn’t exist. Maybe, at its core, writer’s block is just a diversion – not a blocked road, but a new road. The letters are jumbled because they are being forced into words they were never meant to compose. The writing that must be written gets taken care of eventually, just after what needed to be written first.
When the writer’s block is treated as less of an impairment and more of a foundation, words froth into foaming rapids and sentences cap themselves. The most pressing writing soaks through, appearing as a captive beast set free. The writer’s block is a point of attack, and sometimes a good writer has to let the dog off the leash. When the words are freed to chase their own end – watch out.
alexjjlarsen.com 