Writers block

I’ve come to believe that writers block is hardly ever as dramatic as the films might make you think. Sitting at a typewriter trying to peck out your first line, only to tear it up and write a variation. Doesn’t happen. Well, at least, it’s not happened to me. That situation to me seems like what would happen to someone who actually had no idea what to write in the first place.

Writers block is something a little more sinister in my mind. It’s not even the little birds that people talk about, that sit on your shoulder and whisper doubtful words in your ears. I’m passed that. Another thing that comes with having written most of your life. Even that isn’t the block.

No. Writers block is merely the inability to get ass on seat, words on page. For me it’s the excuses that whisper in my head now, not the birds of doubt. It’s the things I can identify, and it’s the things I can’t. It’s the over thinking of the reasons why my word count might not be where it should be. It’s delaying to lunchtime what I can’t be assed doing now. It’s delaying till tomorrow what I can’t be assed doing at lunchtime. It’s justifying that no, I’ll start again tomorrow. I’ll recommit tomorrow to a new plan that might get my ass into gear.

It’s just plain laziness.

There’s a sure fire way to cure writers block, I find. Write. Get back into a pattern of writing on a regular basis. Get back to thinking about writing because you’re writing enough that it’s on your mind all the time. Then you know exactly what needs to be done when you sit down next.

But some days it’s a breeze, and some days it’s a slog. And some days drag into weeks. As much as you tell yourself otherwise.