I think it’s hilarious that the existence or non-existence of writer’s block gets people’s panties in such a tight little bunch.
Unlike a lot of people, my feelings about it are lukewarm, maybe tinged with amusement.
Is there a magical curse that blocks the flow of a writer’s creative source, sucking him dry and preventing him from writing anything but total and utter crap? No. Of course not. But writers are a superstitious lot. We have to be. Making stuff up is what we do.
There are always going to be days when we pull out every single word onto the page like a fishhook that’s been embedded deep in the skin. It’s not always manic rivers of prose flowing from lightning-charged fingertips.
That’s just how it goes.
So, is there such a thing as writer’s block?
It’s semantics, that’s all. If I’m blocked, it’s because there’s either something wrong with what I’m writing, or something wrong with what I’m thinking.
Sure. Writer’s block exists. But only because I’m a writer and I’m blocked. Not because my fluttery muse deserted me, or because the hotel I’m writing in is haunted.
All work and no play makes Rachel a dull girl.
If you think you’re well and truly blocked, check your manuscript. Did you veer off the road somewhere? Your subconscious knows it, and it’s trying to tell you to go back.
If that’s not it, go look in the mirror. Have yourself a little chat with your own face. Why are you fighting against writing this? What are you avoiding?
Go for a long drive. Wear a hat. Put on a pair of stripey, fingerless gloves. Move your writing to another room. Take a day to forget about it and let your subconscious work on the problem for awhile.
But the more you stress about Writer’s Block, the more it’ll become a real thing.
It exists. It doesn’t exist. Whatever. Work through it, or scoff at it. Meh.
My muse and I will be over in the corner, watching the debate.