Blocked

Writing is hard work. It's solitary, bedeviling and painful work. Hemingway knew that and so does any other writer who's been published. You get to the point where you know that when you look at the screen or the paper, nothing's going to happen, and you imagine all kinds of self-pitying scenarios, most of which involve no writing but lots of screaming and thrashing. You hope for things to happen to you so you'll be torn away from writing against your will, and it won't be your fault you don't write ever again.

Next time you wander into a bookstore, stand back and let your eyes scan all the spines of all the books displayed there and imagine that, probably, for every inch-thick book, there has been about a year of a writer's life spent. At least. Lots of paper, lots of backspacing and deleting. Probably lots of therapy hours spent, too.

I'd say having an urge to write and then not succeeding at producing an interesting paragraph or even - god, let me, please, a sentence - is a lot like anticipating a nice cool swim in a pool you know about and finding that the pool has been drained when you get there. It's soooooo disappointing. You ask yourself (after a few satisfying foul words tumble out): Well, what else could I do besides swim? What else could I do besides write?

For me, I can think of lots else, but not many other things draw me to them. I guess I could go wash my windows since I can't see out of them anymore. That would actually be useful. Or, I could walk, or read, or sing, or SOMETHING!!!! But, you have to understand, I feel like writing. I really need to write, and, just like I really need to breathe, if I don't write, I will crumple up into a little ball and end up in a corner behind the sofa, dead. I'd bet money that that's not probably something you can relate to, needing to write.

I probably won't let myself get to the point of a desiccated, shriveled little mess of frustration. I'd go the fridge or the store long before that, but I know it would only be a delaying tactic. I flew into the Monterey airport one time in a private plane with a friend. We were going from point A to point B, B being the airport here, but in the approach, we had to use delaying maneuvers to avoid piling up too close behind another plane. My friend had to start banking left and right, left and right to slow down his forward progress. We knew we were going to end up at the airport, but we had to avoid it for a while. I got airsick and almost barfed. Avoiding writing is a lot like that. I know I have to sit down and do it, but I can delay it by going to the store or a bakery or to the ever-beckoning fridge. I'd eat, or walk and eat, or anything but write, but the whole time I'd know I was meant to write because I told myself I needed to write.

So, there you go. You can let me off the hook by saying, "It's okay, don't write, you've done enough, it's all good." Or, you could say, "Write, write, write! Never stop!" And I'd have no excuse, possibly even be encouraged and then, even more possibly, my mind would unlock and I could write again. So, what'll it be?

Okay, here I go to the fridge....