Hello Writer’s Block, My Old Friend

Writer’s block is the second worst kind of block, but in many ways, it’s by far the more damaging to one’s psyche. I have prided myself on never being at a loss for words, but when a recent friend asked me if I had penned a book—an obvious question for someone who writes a lot—I froze and sheepishly admitted that I hadn’t.

I’ve certainly started a few: screenplays, poetry, children’s books, a memoir (just kidding) and other long-form writing. The great American novel. And then, with a couple of notable exceptions, just when I begin getting into it, the same thing happens: I read work by someone else that completely blows me away and I become intimidated and go back to writing 750 word essays on sports, music or my eating habits.

It gives outsiders the appearance that I am too lazy to write one, and maybe I’m okay with people thinking that. The truth is probably more painful, because becoming intimidated by the likes of Hilary Mantel who wrote the year’s most sensational novel “Wolf Hall” is really pretty lame. She’s a tiny British woman, although the best writer of any sex or size working today.

The funny thing is, I’ve written enough words over the years to fill a full set of encyclopedias and some of them I actually consider keepers. The rest of them go back into my brain’s hopper. Occasionally I am working on something and have a déjà vu, like I had already written the words at an earlier date and I force myself to stop. Today someone told me one of my tweets sounded familiar and I almost barfed onto my keyboard. And then I stopped working out and hastily erased it. (Otherwise, I could work out all night long. Believe that.)

Unlike a musician, however, I am under no pressure, no deadlines and there is nobody who has a financial stake in my success, other than my wife who would really love for me to use my creativity to get us that house on the beach somewhere. She hasn’t said as much but…okay, that’s a blatant lie: she has said as much.

And so the other day, when discussing this very subject with my prodigiously talented friend, who’s also experiencing a mild case of the block in a completely different creative discipline, an idea suddenly hit me (after she politely rebuffed my attempt to have her provide me with one) and I have been writing pretty steadily ever since.

It’s a story about a guy who sits down to write something and actually finishes it. The end.

For once.