It's a Block Party (And You're Invited)

No, not this kind.

Have you ever suffered from writer's block? 

Maybe you're trying to get an essay done for class, and the ideas just aren't coming. Maybe you were chugging along on a short story and suddenly, the words just wouldn't flow. Maybe you got a harsh rejection or a critique that cut you to your soft, jello-like artistic core, and now the mere thought of sitting down at the keyboard to type anything more than google searches and Facebook updates sends you into a spiraling panic. Maybe you've suffered from some other kind of artistic block, where getting any kind of work on your current project just feels like a Sisyphean task.

Whatever your medium of expression, if you do work, at some point you've probably felt like:

The truth is, art is hard work. It just is. I've heard some real buttholes who go around giving advice like "If it doesn't come easy, then you're not meant to be doing it," or "If you're bored writing it, the reader will be bored reading it." (Not you, Sarah, my beloved beta reader. You are not a butthole, you are an angel, and although you said something similar, it was in a different context and made sense). 

I think one of the problems comes in with the way we imagine our favorite books being written. I don't know about you, but when I picture Stephen King sitting down to write Bag of Bones, I imagine him sitting hunched over a dusty laptop in a creepy attic, fingers flying as the shadowy figure of Terror itself whispers the story into his ear. I imagine Charlotte Bronte taking maybe a month or two of afternoons in her private chamber to jot down Jane Eyre with a quill pen. I'm one of those idiots who believes that if something is meant to be, it will come easy.

But I'm an idiot.

Nothing worth having comes easy. Dreams aren't born out of fluffy clouds.

They are forged from the iron of a stubborn will over the infernos of passion, and shaped with the hammer of persistence. Art should make you bleed. Even if your art is just a zombie novel or a series of drawings featuring Disney princes re-imagined with "dad-bod."

Which, coincidentally, I would LOVE to see.

My point is, don't listen to the voices-- internal or external-- who tell you that if it's not easy, then you're not meant to do this. If it's hard and torturous and agonizing, but you still want to do it, then you're doing something right. Don't stop now.

Right now, I'm suffering not so much from writer's block (as you can see, I am, actually, writing words), as project block. I can write things as easily as ever (partially thanks to my nearly-always adherence to the principal that you should write something every day), but when it comes to actually working on my book... well, my palms start sweating, my heart beats uncomfortably, and cat videos on Youtube begin their seductive siren-song. Even now, I'm writing this blog post more to avoid trying to work on my book than because it's Sunday and I want to stick to my schedule.

My total inability to finish this project in the 6 months I gave myself has rattled my faith in my abilities as a writer. I know that some people reading this will think I'm just being hard on myself, but the truth is: if I can't finish a rough draft in 6 months of uninterrupted free time, how am I supposed to find the time and energy once I have a job-- or, heaven forbid, a family? What does this failure mean about me? Does it mean I'm just wrong, and writing is not what I'm supposed to be doing? Am I a sad wannabe hack?

Maybe. But I'm still writing. 

Can you relate? Have you ever experienced something similar? How did you break through? Let me know in the comments.

I'll leave you with one final thought:

Scared to death-- but not giving up. My new motto.