Being Blocked
Artists and writers use the term "blocked" when they hit a brick wall with their creativity. And hitting a brick wall is exactly what it feels like; you might be merrily writing away, your characters coming to life, the plot thickening, and boom! For no apparent reason everything stops dead in its tracks.
I have been struggling, trying to wrench from my creativity a novel. I began with a short story that really needed to expand and grow. I was so excited in the beginning, setting scenes and getting to know my characters. Then one day I didn't know what the next scene was. My characters stood frozen in place, exceedingly patient, waiting for me to breathe life into them. I grew panicked, tried to write, struck too many false notes, and decided to set the work aside.
Since then I have been paralyzed with fear. From time to time I will click over to my "writing" file and read what I have already written, half hoping the characters woke up and went on without me. I have avoided reading my beloved Writer Magazine. The Bookbuilders meetings, which are the highlight of my month, have left me feeling fraudulent and way out of my league. I feel like a scrawny green worm, desperately clinging to the underside of a half-eaten leaf surrounded by luxuriantly furred caterpillars, too afraid to move lest I be trampled, knowing in my heart I will never become a butterfly. I alternately wish for the beak of a bird to end my misery and the translucent wings of a dragonfly to carry me to the wonderland Imagination.
I believe being blocked applies to life as well as art. I don't know if I'm stagnating, marinating, or just lying low waiting for joy to walk by so I can jump out and pounce on it. I want the world to stop so I can get off but I also want it to go faster, me clinging to it, squealing with delight with my hair flying in the wind. I do not wish to settle for mediocrity, what-ifs, procrastinating my life away. I do not want to hear "I'm too old," "I'm not smart enough," "I'm too busy," "If only I had more money," blah blah blah. I want to live, I want to write, I want to feel.
I had a conversation with my good friend Cheryl the other day about baby steps. We were talking about struggles with weight loss and I told her not to overwhelm herself by taking on a big plan she probably won't stick to. I told her every choice she makes is a baby step, either toward her goal or away from it. It's just as easy to step in the right direction as it is to walk backward. Easier, even. Making the choice to skip the french fries, making the choice to enjoy a sunset by taking an early evening walk, making the choice to drink an extra glass of water every day. All of those baby steps will eventually show results.
I am attempting to take baby steps in my life, in my writing, to try to "unblock" myself. Yesterday I wrote a paragraph in my story. Only a paragraph, but that baby step gave me the courage to open an unread two-month-old Writer Magazine. I sat on my back porch and read wonderful articles that gave me insight and made me laugh. I ended the day with a little bit of hope, feeling like I accomplished something, even if it was only a very tiny step. I will try to take at least one baby step every day and I will note it, make a big deal out of it, if only to myself. My baby step today is writing this blog. I think I will reward myself with a cup of coffee and a big smile.
I have been struggling, trying to wrench from my creativity a novel. I began with a short story that really needed to expand and grow. I was so excited in the beginning, setting scenes and getting to know my characters. Then one day I didn't know what the next scene was. My characters stood frozen in place, exceedingly patient, waiting for me to breathe life into them. I grew panicked, tried to write, struck too many false notes, and decided to set the work aside.
Since then I have been paralyzed with fear. From time to time I will click over to my "writing" file and read what I have already written, half hoping the characters woke up and went on without me. I have avoided reading my beloved Writer Magazine. The Bookbuilders meetings, which are the highlight of my month, have left me feeling fraudulent and way out of my league. I feel like a scrawny green worm, desperately clinging to the underside of a half-eaten leaf surrounded by luxuriantly furred caterpillars, too afraid to move lest I be trampled, knowing in my heart I will never become a butterfly. I alternately wish for the beak of a bird to end my misery and the translucent wings of a dragonfly to carry me to the wonderland Imagination.
I believe being blocked applies to life as well as art. I don't know if I'm stagnating, marinating, or just lying low waiting for joy to walk by so I can jump out and pounce on it. I want the world to stop so I can get off but I also want it to go faster, me clinging to it, squealing with delight with my hair flying in the wind. I do not wish to settle for mediocrity, what-ifs, procrastinating my life away. I do not want to hear "I'm too old," "I'm not smart enough," "I'm too busy," "If only I had more money," blah blah blah. I want to live, I want to write, I want to feel.
I had a conversation with my good friend Cheryl the other day about baby steps. We were talking about struggles with weight loss and I told her not to overwhelm herself by taking on a big plan she probably won't stick to. I told her every choice she makes is a baby step, either toward her goal or away from it. It's just as easy to step in the right direction as it is to walk backward. Easier, even. Making the choice to skip the french fries, making the choice to enjoy a sunset by taking an early evening walk, making the choice to drink an extra glass of water every day. All of those baby steps will eventually show results.
I am attempting to take baby steps in my life, in my writing, to try to "unblock" myself. Yesterday I wrote a paragraph in my story. Only a paragraph, but that baby step gave me the courage to open an unread two-month-old Writer Magazine. I sat on my back porch and read wonderful articles that gave me insight and made me laugh. I ended the day with a little bit of hope, feeling like I accomplished something, even if it was only a very tiny step. I will try to take at least one baby step every day and I will note it, make a big deal out of it, if only to myself. My baby step today is writing this blog. I think I will reward myself with a cup of coffee and a big smile.
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