It is here. It has arrived. I have to face it. There is no escape, no denying, no avoiding. WRITER’S BLOCK.
Why was it so much easier in March? Why did the words flow so freely? How was I able to find inspiration all around me? And now I can’t. WRITER’S BLOCK.
Was it being forced to write everyday? Did it become a habit to find little anecdotes to share? Was it that I have run out of things to say? Or is it just– WRITER’S BLOCK.
I have stories to share, feelings to express, ideas to bring to life. Just not right now. Right now, I have a blank computer screen staring me in the face, mocking me, reminding me that I am NOT a writer, that I have no words to share. That I can not bring to life something that means so much to me. That I am unable to invoke feelings in my readers or share the feelings I have with them. WRITER’S BLOCK.
And then it happens—Take that WRITER’S BLOCK. This screen is no longer blank. My writer’s notebook is open and waiting patiently for me to fill its pages. My ideas, my anecdotes, my stories are not shared here, yet anyone who reads this understands the frustrations I feel, the angst of being unable to form a coherent sentence, the need to put pen to paper. — Take that WRITER’S BLOCK. I write, I poor out my thoughts on the dreaded WRITER’S BLOCK. I realize that it may be here, it may have arrived, I do have to face it but by not escaping, not denying, not avoiding I can move past WRITER’S BLOCK. I can fill that patiently waiting writer’s notebook with other ideas and stories and memories and lists and poems and whatever else I can think of and I can move past the WRITER’S BLOCK.