A Writer's Enemy

There might be some debate on the enemy of a writer, and I do agree that there could be more than one, a passive publicist or a stingy, lack-luster editor, but not all writers suffer those. I think the only enemy that shows no prejudice and knows not of grammar, sentence structure, or marketing techniques is the infamous 'writer's block'. It comes without warning and unwelcomed, it takes up residence for however long it likes, occasionally cutting its visit short as we flood our brains with the known remedies to curing lack of inspiration, but typically does whatever it pleases. For the truly tired and momentarily complacent writer we let writer's block control how often we find ourselves at our desk in front of our computer or with a pen in hand. 


I've been suffering this ridiculous, lone symptom disease for the last few weeks. At first I had been writing so much that I welcomed the break, but now I'm ready to be rid of it and feel as though I can't be. It's strange how easily comfortable that one can get with doing nothing, I've stated time and again that writing is akin to breathing, and more necessary to my life than eating, but if you look at the last few weeks of my life my actions don't readily prove that. 


A friend once came to me and asked what I do differently, she asked how it is that I seem to have an endless amount of words flowing through my fingertips and where the energy came from. She explained that she had been trying to write for days and was coming up short on inspiration and a voice for something or someone. My response to her was simple, you can't will yourself to write. To create something is to be so wrapped up in the moment, an image, a smell, a thought that you need to explore it unto the very end, but you can't will those things into existence. You can't will passion, and you can't force cohesiveness; giving rules to art negates the purpose of art itself. The further that you can color outside the lines the more you will color within them. I told her to get away from her desk, to go out with friends, walk through a busy urban street of downtown with nothing but a pen, and then when something hit her, because I was sure it would, find something to write it down on-the back of her hand, a napkin, a coffee cup from Starbucks. Then let the thought sink in, marinate over the words that she wrote and when the thought is ready to be carried out to completion it would let her know. Creativity doesn't fail if you're paying attention. 


All writers come to this juncture, and typically the first time is the hardest time, we haven't quite figured out that our voice is coming from a past that is dying to speak, or the stories of a close friend who bore their soul to us because they didn't know where else to turn. Our words come from a well of life experience, a well that is capable of running dry if you do not continue living. My advice to my friend was to make sure she gets out and sees the sun, sees children laughing, young love, seasoned love, strong friendships and uncertain but daring young minds. I told her to pay attention to what makes her pause in her step, for even just a moment, why her gaze lingers and to what her eyes are drawn, because it's from those things that inspiration will never cease. This conversation was a few years ago, and now on the increasingly rare occasion that she tells me she's in need of a spark I laugh and tell her to get a life. 


Now back to my dilemma, I feel as though I just shared all of that with you to remind myself what is needed in times when it feels like I am incapable of writing any words, though clearly from this that is not the case. I suppose every now and then a good reminder is needed and seeing yourself in another's situation puts a new perspective on things. I think that I have just cured my writer's block, and have a sneaky suspicion that tonight will be a productive night.