Writer's block is no joke. It's very real and ridiculously annoying. It's about the same problem you face when you tell yourself you need to get to the gym, and then never do. So the solution is pretty simple. Just do it. Write, write, write.
The problem is... How the fuck do I fucking write if I don't know what to write??? Or, I don't fucking feel like writing right now!!!
Yup... that's the shit storm caused by writer's block. Here's my solution and it should work for you.
Write about your writer's block.
It's on your mind. It's attached to your brain and it's killing your production. Going back to the gym example... just imagine how buff you'd be if you'd gone to the gym all the times you'd decided not to... Well, there you go. Imagine how many books you'd have written if you'd just sat down and written words.
Below, is an example of me writing about my writer's block. Read it and then you try it. You'll discover, that by simply, "writing about writer's block," you can bust through that damn wall and get back to work. DO IT!
I’m attempting to write. I want to write. I know what I want to say, I don’t know how I’m going to say it. The words seem to escape me. I don’t like it when words escape me and yet, the words to write this stupid piece about my writer's block... are coming out rather flawlessly. I have writer’s block. No you don't. Yes I do, shutup! I have a giant fucking wall of resistance to writing right now. Like two magnets of equal polarity trying to make contact, but repelling with great force instead. What has caused this? I was doing so well… but something happened? Lack of motivation, focus and desire. No, not true, the desire is there, but the energy and determination have all but disappeared. I think about sitting down to write the next chapter and my body and mind shut down. So I go off and do something else, something non-productive and then I feel like hell. I feel as if I’ve given up, or lost the ability to write.
This is not good. Tiredness creeps in. The lights dim and I feel as if writing is a great chore, too much to deal with, too tiresome to confront. Another day perhaps… When I’m better rested, or better fed, or when I’m feeling energized. Oh, but look… I’ve written 200 words here in the span of 3 minutes and I’ve done so rather easily. Why? Why is it so damn easy to get this out, and yet I can’t decide what Wally Masterson, the main character of my novel, is going to do next? Actually, I know what he’s going to do next, but why do I have such trouble sitting down to type it? It’s as if all of my energy escapes me the second I sit down and try to write… Wally you bastard, what are you doing right now? What's happening in that stupid universe I created around you? Wait.. what's that? Shhhhh (Wally's trying to get my attention)
Wally leapt out of his chair quickly, like a cobra striking its fangs into the neck of a drunken snake charmer. The red-faced man barreled into the kitchen with heavy thuds and snatched up his flamethrower which had been carelessly tossed into the sink the night before. The night he accidentally burned down his mother's house. He strapped it over his back and stared murder at the front door. Time to burn some fuckin' asses, he thought as he ventured back into the living room.
See how that works? Pretty workable, so go ahead and try it. You can describe your writer's block like a force, or maybe a monster, or anything really, just write about it and see where it leads.
The problem is... How the fuck do I fucking write if I don't know what to write??? Or, I don't fucking feel like writing right now!!!
Yup... that's the shit storm caused by writer's block. Here's my solution and it should work for you.
Write about your writer's block.
It's on your mind. It's attached to your brain and it's killing your production. Going back to the gym example... just imagine how buff you'd be if you'd gone to the gym all the times you'd decided not to... Well, there you go. Imagine how many books you'd have written if you'd just sat down and written words.
Below, is an example of me writing about my writer's block. Read it and then you try it. You'll discover, that by simply, "writing about writer's block," you can bust through that damn wall and get back to work. DO IT!
I’m attempting to write. I want to write. I know what I want to say, I don’t know how I’m going to say it. The words seem to escape me. I don’t like it when words escape me and yet, the words to write this stupid piece about my writer's block... are coming out rather flawlessly. I have writer’s block. No you don't. Yes I do, shutup! I have a giant fucking wall of resistance to writing right now. Like two magnets of equal polarity trying to make contact, but repelling with great force instead. What has caused this? I was doing so well… but something happened? Lack of motivation, focus and desire. No, not true, the desire is there, but the energy and determination have all but disappeared. I think about sitting down to write the next chapter and my body and mind shut down. So I go off and do something else, something non-productive and then I feel like hell. I feel as if I’ve given up, or lost the ability to write.
This is not good. Tiredness creeps in. The lights dim and I feel as if writing is a great chore, too much to deal with, too tiresome to confront. Another day perhaps… When I’m better rested, or better fed, or when I’m feeling energized. Oh, but look… I’ve written 200 words here in the span of 3 minutes and I’ve done so rather easily. Why? Why is it so damn easy to get this out, and yet I can’t decide what Wally Masterson, the main character of my novel, is going to do next? Actually, I know what he’s going to do next, but why do I have such trouble sitting down to type it? It’s as if all of my energy escapes me the second I sit down and try to write… Wally you bastard, what are you doing right now? What's happening in that stupid universe I created around you? Wait.. what's that? Shhhhh (Wally's trying to get my attention)
Wally leapt out of his chair quickly, like a cobra striking its fangs into the neck of a drunken snake charmer. The red-faced man barreled into the kitchen with heavy thuds and snatched up his flamethrower which had been carelessly tossed into the sink the night before. The night he accidentally burned down his mother's house. He strapped it over his back and stared murder at the front door. Time to burn some fuckin' asses, he thought as he ventured back into the living room.
See how that works? Pretty workable, so go ahead and try it. You can describe your writer's block like a force, or maybe a monster, or anything really, just write about it and see where it leads.