Some days you sit down to write, and nothing comes. I think that this must happen to every writer at some point or other, even prolific ones like R.A. Salvatore and Ray Bradbury. They too must have looked at a blank page and sighed at the lack of words on it, going to the well of inspiration only to find that it is dry. I wonder how they wiled away the time, what they did to distract themselves from the fact that the muse is being stingy with her gifts of an exciting plot and the right words to bring it to life? Did Bradbury play with his toys (he famously enjoyed getting toys as gifts throughout his life)? Did Hemingway have another drink? Did Tolkien work at translating some Old English text? I wonder what Debbie Macomber or Nora Roberts do when they have writer's block. They may write several books a year, but it must happen to them too, every once in a while.
Just like every writer has to deal with writer's block, surely every writer has their own way of coping with it as well. We make tea, read a book, distract ourselves by watching the latest episode of The Colbert Report. We look at Tumblr and Facebook; we write blog posts about how awful the whole thing is, looking at a blank page when the words fail. But no matter how we may postpone the inevitable, the story is still waiting for us whenever we force ourselves to return. Some days when the words won't come easily, I manage to eke out a single page, or just a paragraph. Even a few sentences is better than nothing at all. On days like that, every word is a victory against the empty page, when you start to wonder whether it's worth it to keep fighting, writing a story when you could be reading someone else's.
Of course, not everything you write on a blocked day is going to be good. The next day, you might revisit what you wrote and not even recognize yourself in it. On other days, what you struggled to write seems not so very bad at all, and this is heartening. Don't worry about whether it seems good or bad. If it is bad, you can fix it. It can be re-written, edited and shaped into something worth reading. You can't fix what you didn't write in the first place. So write. Some days the muse is kind, and a few pages come out in the course of an hour or so. Those are the good days; they are rare enough, so I try and enjoy them when they happen. Other days you spend fighting the muse even for just a few lines. I like to think that those are the days that help make you better, because you keep writing even when it would be easier to quit and do something else. And it is worth it. What you write is your accomplishment. No matter what else someone may think about it, whether they love it or despise it, you created something, and that matters. When you write, when you tell a story, you are engaging in a tradition as old as the human species itself, going back from the present, with its massive publishing industry, to the oral tradition of memory, beyond that to the earliest cave drawings where, no doubt, those men and women were telling stories too. So if you want to write, write through the block, even though it's hard, even if the story is only for you, or a few close friends. Write until the words start to flow again. It still matters.
Just like every writer has to deal with writer's block, surely every writer has their own way of coping with it as well. We make tea, read a book, distract ourselves by watching the latest episode of The Colbert Report. We look at Tumblr and Facebook; we write blog posts about how awful the whole thing is, looking at a blank page when the words fail. But no matter how we may postpone the inevitable, the story is still waiting for us whenever we force ourselves to return. Some days when the words won't come easily, I manage to eke out a single page, or just a paragraph. Even a few sentences is better than nothing at all. On days like that, every word is a victory against the empty page, when you start to wonder whether it's worth it to keep fighting, writing a story when you could be reading someone else's.
Of course, not everything you write on a blocked day is going to be good. The next day, you might revisit what you wrote and not even recognize yourself in it. On other days, what you struggled to write seems not so very bad at all, and this is heartening. Don't worry about whether it seems good or bad. If it is bad, you can fix it. It can be re-written, edited and shaped into something worth reading. You can't fix what you didn't write in the first place. So write. Some days the muse is kind, and a few pages come out in the course of an hour or so. Those are the good days; they are rare enough, so I try and enjoy them when they happen. Other days you spend fighting the muse even for just a few lines. I like to think that those are the days that help make you better, because you keep writing even when it would be easier to quit and do something else. And it is worth it. What you write is your accomplishment. No matter what else someone may think about it, whether they love it or despise it, you created something, and that matters. When you write, when you tell a story, you are engaging in a tradition as old as the human species itself, going back from the present, with its massive publishing industry, to the oral tradition of memory, beyond that to the earliest cave drawings where, no doubt, those men and women were telling stories too. So if you want to write, write through the block, even though it's hard, even if the story is only for you, or a few close friends. Write until the words start to flow again. It still matters.
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