“Just write,” they say. “I don’t believe in writers’ block. It’s all in your head. Here’s a pen.”
I want to stick my tongue out at they. They doesn’t even know how it feels to have such genius ideas dancing a sexy tango in your head only to become floppy 1990’s boy band choreography on the page. Not only is it a total mess, it’s embarrassing.
It’s like one of those bad dreams where you show up to work in your underwear and everyone laughs, only it’s actually happening and you’re not caught in your underwear but a tacky neon leotard and everyone just stares uncomfortably because they can’t tell if you’re joking or not.
It’s not a joke.
So, writers’ block, instead of working her tacky neon leotard like a Cirque du Soleil acrobat, awkwardly sits at her computer fidgeting with her hair, shoveling snacks down her throat, and wiping away wet mascara running from the frustrated tears that pour out.
Never. Typing. A. Single. Word.
Maybe they has good advice after all. Just write.
Just write the cringe-worthy choreography, get it out of the way so you can smooth it into a sensual, heart-stopping tango. Wear that leotard like hot red lipstick.
I’m tellin’ ya, if you work it, those stares will be wrung with jealousy, because secretly, deep down, we all want the confidence to squirm in our most embarrassing indulgences. We fear our most intimate desires because they aren’t what we thought they would be, they aren’t what we were told they would be. They’re more like cheesy boy bands and bright, clingy spandex.
Trust me, once you’re done with it, people will want all your tacky like a popsicle in the summer sun, like beer by the barbecue, like kisses in the morning and cuddles at night.
I mean, you’re stuck in that damn leotard anyway, might as well make the best of it.
If that doesn’t work, just give up. Become a clown like all those high school career tests told you to. You’re half way there anyway, right?
Wrong. Big fat wrong.
If working it isn’t your style, chill out, there are a million ways to get out of your rut. I like to start with taking a break. Go for a run, walk through nature, meditate, make lunch or dinner or midnight snack, take a shower, call your mom and cry your poor little encumbered heart out. It’s okay. Everything is going to be okay.
Then, pour yourself a tall glass of malbec and sit back down to your notebook, or laptop or napkin, and write.
Here are some writing prompts to get you started:
- I remember …
- The last time I …
- The more I think about ____ the more I wish …
- I wish …
- If I were …
- The colour ____ always reminds me of …
- My mom thinks I’m ____ but I’m really …