Kelly Flanagan
I have writer’s block every day.
Almost every time I sit down to write, I get scared the magic won’t happen, so I delay it. I check email. Reply to a few. Check the news. Click. Click. Click. Suddenly, I’m reading online tabloids. Ridiculous. So I do something a little less meaningless—I check Facebook. Everyone else is still doing things that make my life look ordinary and unsuccessful. I imagine my next book will change all of that, which causes my anxiety to tick up a notch. I consider getting up to do yardwork.
And THAT’S the moment—the moment I consider getting up from the computer and ignoring the blank page. THAT’S the moment my everyday writer’s block either wins or doesn’t.
My oldest son used to take classical guitar lessons. We were broke and the lessons were expensive and we wanted him to get the most out of them, but he refused to practice. We asked his instructor for some tips. His answer was, “Don’t make him practice. Just make him sit in front of the guitar with no distractions. Eventually he’ll pick it up and start playing, because it’s better than being bored.”
So, I force myself to sit in front of the “guitar,” so to speak. The computer. The empty document. I close my email app. I close my web browser. I close the blinds so I can’t see the weeds growing in the flowerbeds outside. I rid myself of distractions. And I sit there, until the discomfort of just sitting there becomes more uncomfortable than the fear of failure. Then, I start. I always start.
And what comes out is almost never great, at first. But it is also never writer’s block.
Good enough.
Almost every time I sit down to write, I get scared the magic won’t happen, so I delay it. I check email. Reply to a few. Check the news. Click. Click. Click. Suddenly, I’m reading online tabloids. Ridiculous. So I do something a little less meaningless—I check Facebook. Everyone else is still doing things that make my life look ordinary and unsuccessful. I imagine my next book will change all of that, which causes my anxiety to tick up a notch. I consider getting up to do yardwork.
And THAT’S the moment—the moment I consider getting up from the computer and ignoring the blank page. THAT’S the moment my everyday writer’s block either wins or doesn’t.
My oldest son used to take classical guitar lessons. We were broke and the lessons were expensive and we wanted him to get the most out of them, but he refused to practice. We asked his instructor for some tips. His answer was, “Don’t make him practice. Just make him sit in front of the guitar with no distractions. Eventually he’ll pick it up and start playing, because it’s better than being bored.”
So, I force myself to sit in front of the “guitar,” so to speak. The computer. The empty document. I close my email app. I close my web browser. I close the blinds so I can’t see the weeds growing in the flowerbeds outside. I rid myself of distractions. And I sit there, until the discomfort of just sitting there becomes more uncomfortable than the fear of failure. Then, I start. I always start.
And what comes out is almost never great, at first. But it is also never writer’s block.
Good enough.
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