2009 Writer’s Block

It must be January.  The doldrums hit with no warning.  Somewhere between toasting a new year and a return to normal, I crossed the line and entered the writer’s can’t-think-of-a-damn-thing-to-write-even-though-I-have-a-gig block.  Is it the weather? Perhaps snow saps my mind of words. It could just be that I’m a displaced writer that misplaced my mind after stressed holiday fun. It seems to happen every year right about now.  I need a vacation.  I should be lounging on a warm, sunny beach with a shorthaired Fabio sort of hunk handing me a fruity drink that thaws out my mind, fingers, and motivation.  Instead, I’ll share with the world what I do when I get stuck.

 

The 2009-year’s list of things to do instead of writing:

 

• Download music for 94 cents a tune.
• Create playlists with strange unique titles like…“My Favorites” 
• Play solitaire while listening to my new favorites playlist
• Spin in my chair until I get dizzy
• Rearrange my desktop… should my favorite book, Rodale Synonym Finder, be in the bookcase or on the desk?
• Spend a morning creating a daily calendar in MS Word because Microsoft discriminates against people who have Office 2003 and only those with Office 2007 can enjoy the ease of downloading a 2009 daily calendar.    
• I’m a predjudiced writer.  Get rid of every blue pen that snuck into my penholder.  I hate blue ink.
• Try to journal using free thought writing, but discover I can’t think freely.
• Dream about new notebooks with hard covers and dividers for various topics so I can feel organized.
• Crave the love of my life and wonder how I’ll manage without coca-cola. 
• Plan the perfect home office with the desk from Pottery Barn that I’ve been pining after as the centerpiece.
• Decide what colors all my office organizers will be…I’m leaning toward red. 
• Watch the cat knock everything off the top of my computer stand, including the new speakers that enticed me to purchase music online and create playlists. 
• Read email.
• Respond to email.
• Wash my face and slather on the clay mask.  Rinse and check for wrinkles and stiffies on the chin.
• Daydream

I love to write… I really do.  It’s like breathing, if I don’t do it something dies.  It’s just that procrastinating and having writer’s block serves me.  I just wish I knew how…

 

 

 

 

 

   

 

The Procrastinator’s Way

I had every intention of jotting down a Hemingway quote I’d read once, but of course I didn’t… I thought, I’ll do it later.  Of course later never came and I had to google ‘Hemingway refrigerator.’  The quote in question?  When asked how he began writing a new novel, Hemingway replied, “First I defrost the refrigerator.” How well I know that feeling. I am the essence of a procrastinator.  All around me are things to do:
Tidy up my desk
Organize files
Throw in a load of laundry
Play pacman online
Read a magazine on writing 
Leaf through Writer’s Market
Clean out a drawer
Pluck my eyebrows, 
Search for a recipe
Check my bank account balance,
Stare out the window 

The question, “why I procrastinate”, burns my soul and singes my productivity.  I was once asked, is it a fear of success or a fear of failure?  My brilliant reply to the deep question, “I don’t know.” I’m still not sure. There are days when I must talk myself into facing the blank page without fear and loathing. Other days I’m so anxious to start writing that I nearly orgasm just thinking about it.  I run to the computer and fall into the chair like I’m falling into the arms of a lover.  The words flow from my fingertips with ease and grace.  That does not happen often and usually when I go back to revise, check, and rewrite the words look strangely different.

Back to procrastination.  The procrastinator’s way is to wait for a strike of literary lightning to turn a dull thought into a shining inspiration.  It just doesn’t happen that way.  The bottom line is what makes me drop the vacuum handle and let it lay in the middle of the floor while I scurry back to the blank page.  It suddenly came to me while sucking up cat hair and candy wrappers that if I don’t write it I’ll miss my deadline.  If I miss the deadline, the client will be miffed.  If the client is miffed, I may lose the gig.  If I lose the gig, I may lose the roof over my head. If I lose the roof over my head, I’ll lose my internet access. If I lose my internet access I’ll have problems emailing and getting more jobs. 

The moral of the story: Unless I want to be sitting in a box on a warm beach writing on tossed out papers found in the trash with a nubbin of pencil, I can only allow the procrastinator’s way to go so far.  At some level being a procrastinator serves me, otherwise, I wouldn’t do it. Now that I’ve spent half the morning putting off writing that article on zen gardens, it’s time to get busy right after I blow dry my hair.