By Gillie Easdon
So. I sit at my desk, inside on a glorious summer-dregs day and
my fingers rest on “asdf jkl;” like they are supposed to. I'm feeling
moderately stoic for being inside at all. Smug, even. Like I have already
accomplished something just because I am not biking down Dallas Road with my
two-string kite ogling the paragliders and kiteboarders as I envy all the dog
owners. Not to mention the buff shirtless joggers. There is lovely scenery
along this wide ocean road.
I type the word, “So”. I stare vacantly at the screen with a
gape generally reserved for elevators. I notice a smudge on the screen. I wipe
it off with my thumb. It leaves a thumb print. I go get a cloth to wipe off the
smudge and am suddenly acutely aware of how dusty my monitor is, and the
keyboard. And the desk. And the laptop adjacent. I wipe them down. I throw the
cloth in the laundry bin. The bin is nearly full. I sit down again. The word “So”
looks more like a swan looking at a bowling ball now. I rub my front teeth with
my left index finger and resume staring at the screen. I’m thirsty.
I get up and make a cup of tea. I spoon a little demerara onto
my tongue and listen to the kettle ruffle its feathers. I check my e-mail again
(20
th
time today and it is 3:30 p.m.). Five new messages. A smile of
glee slashes across my face. I open hotmail. My smile spills onto the floor.
Hotmail is getting so much junk these days. Maybe Carla will invite me to
g-mail.
Okay. I have my tea. Fingers alight the keyboard and a delicate
right pinky lands, soundless, on the backspace button. Push. Push. Push. Blank
screen.
I should do the dishes. I rise and beeline for the kitchen... I
can't believe I have not done the dish— wait, there is only one coffee
cup, a small plate decked with salt, pepper, a little leftover yolk and a
spoon. Do the dishes later. Sit down. Would I just sit down and get to work?
Okay, okay, I’ll just sit down. As I ease my derrière into the seat I wonder if
the laundry room is free but I catch myself and yank my fingers onto the
keyboard. Sit. Stay. Stay.
So. Well. Hmm.
I don't feel like working on my book. I don't really feel like
drumming out articles. I’m still waiting to hear back from a few pitches. No,
don’t feel like doing that. But then again, I don't want to bail on my writing
for the day because then I'll feel like a loser. I wish someone would call,
even to go for coffee. I could somehow justify that. In this type of situation
it is not permissible to initiate that type of activity. I have very strict
rules of this nature.
So. I am not going anywhere. I have to sit here and write. I
don't care if it is good. It probably isn't good. The other stuff is quite
good. So, what will I write about today. Chapter Six? No. Maybe I’ll start
Chapter Eight. No. Man that screen is just staring at me. Maybe I’ll just
freeflow write for a bit. On what I know. What do I know? Well, I know for damn
sure that I am trying as hard as I can to find a sensible reason not to do what
I love most to do. I think I need a hair tie. My hair is bugging me.
“I don't believe in writer's block. I think better words…
(are) fear, procrastination, lack of imagination and/or over worked. If (it)
exists, I'd charge it as a symptom... Writer's block just means I haven't
stocked my desk drawer with enough chocolate.”
– Nicole Fitzgerald
(Incidentally there is a site that recommends chocolate for
writer’s block)
Is what I am experiencing procrastination or writer's block? Procrastination
is such an unpleasant word, especially for one that starts with such a peppy
affirmative syllable. But there is something weak, guilty and covert about the
word “procrastination”. Couldn’t be that. Writer’s block? Well, isn’t that more
of a phase in the creative process, a passing ailment, a necessary
uncomfortable state, albeit a bit self-indulgent artsy-sounding. Let’s check
the internet.
Wikipedia cites writer’s block as:
“Writer's block is a
phenomenon involving temporary loss of ability to continue writing, usually due
to lack of inspiration or creativity.”
Hmm. Okay, and so my current mood could
be more of a preemptive stage of writer’s block. Maybe that’s what this is. I
read on…
“Writer's block can
be closely related to depression and anxiety, two disorders that reflect
environmentally-caused or spontaneous changes in the brain's frontal lobe.”
Great. Scratch being
worried about the progress of the book. I may be exhibiting symptoms of anxiety
and depression, much bigger fish to fry. Great. I minimize that screen and am
faced with the blank screen. I minimize that screen and am faced with the page
on anxiety and depression and my poor lobe. I minimize. I maximize. I minimize.
I maximize. Min-max-mini-max — I find myself being lulled by the
Lilliputian rhythm I’ve got going on with the click of the mouse. I close both
screens and shake my head.
I read recently that Druids suffered from writer's block. To
cure it, they would lie in a windowless hut in a cold bath with an enormous
stone on their chest. That would probably work. Reminds me of when I subjected
myself to Buckley's, which I firmly believe only works because every ounce of
my body screams “Okay okay you win, I'll get better. Just don't do that to me
again. Jeez. Eww. Okay. Why'd you have to do THAT?”
“I have never suffered from writer’s block. In fact, most of
the time my problem is putting a cork in it.”
–
Leslie Anthony
Alternately, Druids would sacrifice a white bull, chew on the
meat and wrap themselves in rawhide and sit under a waterfall.
Okay, so Druids get points for creativity, panache and gore. I
tend to do dishes, cook or exercise. This could explain why I have writer's
block. Why? Because I am obviously becoming an inexplicably boring tit with
nothing interesting to say, save that lemongrass-scented dish liquid defeats
the purpose of cleaning food and food smells off plates.
I forge ahead with my research. One site gives a brief overview
of Ayurvedic, Chinese and other natural remedies to overcome writer’s block.
This site attributes writer’s block to fatigue, weakened immune system and low
mental and physical stamina. Nice turns. What is my current self-prognosis, Dr.
Easdon? Depression, anxiety, exhaustion, infirmity… Suggested remedies include
Korean or Siberian Ginseng, cayenne pepper, yellow dock root, licorice root,
garlic, bee pollen, alfalfa, seaweeds, blessed thistle, gotu kola, Fo-ti,
damiana, St. John’s Wort and L-Tyrosine. I’m sure there are some out there who
could come up with a few other herbs to assist with the writing process.
This slightly whimsical site ends with a note on the importance
of attitude, and reminds us that a child doesn’t say, “I can’t finger-paint
today,” which reminds me of an old quote that Rebecca Wood Barrett forwarded to
me the other day:
“What do you do about writer's block? I don't believe in it.
All writing is difficult. The most you can hope for is a day when it goes
reasonably easily. Plumbers don't get plumber's block, and doctors don't get
doctor's block; why should writers be the only profession that gives a special
name to the difficulty of working, and then expects sympathy for it?”
– Philip Pullman
Now wait a minute. It didn’t occur to me to expect sympathy for
the state I am experiencing. But I admit I am no plumber, nor doctor, nor would
I feel comfortable making a broad sweeping statement as to whether they ever
had a block, or preemptive block about their particular professions. It is a
sound quote on the work of the writer as work, but I am thinking that writer’s
block may exist, and not only because there are 29,100,000 linked sites on
Google for it (approximately 10,000,000 more than the 19,300,000 for Santa
Claus).
“For me, it's not so much writer's block as writer's
resistance. I never
have any trouble writing or thinking up ideas once I get my bum down in
the chair. It's getting to the chair that's so incredibly difficult,
because at any given time I have an infinite number of vitally
important jobs to take care of, from petting the cat to cleaning the
toilet. On a good day I convince myself to get to the chair and write
before doing any of those other critical things. On a bad day I do them
first and feel guilty and then get to the chair. On a really bad day I
don't get to the chair at all, and promise myself I'll write double the
next day, which I never do.”
–
Rebecca Wood
Barrett
I sent in a request via Stella Harvey to the Vicious Circle
(Whistler Writers Group) on how they dealt with writer’s block. Over half of
the respondents replied that they did not believe in writer’s block. I spent
some time digesting this. Was it the terminology? The implications of the
terminology? Were they only writing when they felt like it? Or were they more
prone to PWB (The preemptive stage of writer’s block, a.k.a. procrastination, which
precludes writer’s block but may be a direct result of WBP, writer’s block
phobia)? Or did they just always write fluidly and beautifully all the time?
Really? I mean, how many films, books and marvelous pieces of theatre would
have to be discounted? Bells are Ringing (1960), Paris When it Sizzles (1964),
Barton Fink (1991), The Gambler (1997), The Muse (1999), The Man from the
Elysian Fields (2001), Adaptation (2002), to name a few.
Apparently the term “writer’s block” was coined by Edmund
Bergler, a Viennese émigré and later Freudian. He attributed it to “oral
masochism, entrapment in rage over the milk-denying pre-Oedipal mother. Starved
before, the writer chose to become starved again — that is, blocked.”
Coleridge (1804) was one of the first cited cases. Bergler
claimed to have cured over 40 writers with 100 per cent success rate. The
things you can find on the Internet. I just thought I was having a bit of a
blank day.
“Set a timer for two minutes and list possible next steps
that could
move the piece forward. Then I choose the best one and make that my
next action. Completing this action gets me moving again.”
–
Chad Nantais
Reading over articles on writer’s block, and famous authors on
writer’s block, and the history of writer’s block makes me wish I didn’t
believe in it either. Granted, most of the cases I found on websites are about
dead authors who just stopped writing altogether. That was it. Reasons offered
were that some had dried up, or been intimidated by success, or disillusioned,
mentally ill or fiercely substance dependent. These tales are too large, much
too epic to compare to just the simple issue of not getting past a blank screen
in my lovely apartment, with the view, the fish, the healthy house plants and
the nicely vacuumed-floors.
“I've been trying to answer this one. Honestly, I have. But
do you think I can come up with a single thing? Hell no… There's the Charlie
Kaufman technique: reward myself with food. Then I think about food. Oh, I do
better than think about it… I get on my bike and go for lunch. And coffee.
Coffee shops and bars are surely the havens or purgatories for writers with
cramps.”
–
Tim Smith
More nicer (yes, more nicer seems an apt descriptor)
kick-starts listed on writer-friendly supportive sites suggest stepping away
from the page or computer for a spell, typing out a chapter of your favorite
book, having a nice herbal tea. Physical exercise is also a frontrunner for
overcoming PWB or writer’s block; yoga, deep breathing, meditating, walking or
casually banging your head on the keyboard in Sesame Street style. A venue
change is also a popular suggestion. There are reams of writing exercises, such
as choosing an object on your desk and simply describing it, or cutting a
picture from a magazine and scribbling a short piece on it and doodling.
Perfectionism is to be avoided. Goals are to be realistic. There should also be
a note about not spending too much time on the Internet learning that Trollope
wrote every day for three hours, 250 words every 15 minutes and produced 49
novels in 39 years. Nor does it behoove one to learn that some compounded cases
of writer’s block are currently being treated with anti-depressants (which may
kill creativity, but at least kill the anguish associated with lack of
production) or Ritalin.
“…If I’m stuck
and can’t wait for an idea to magically appear, I go for a walk listening to
music. I generally get absorbed in the imagery of the song and then WHAM, a
flood of ideas hits me.”
– Erica Basnicki
Okay. So. What have I learned? I have learned that I am having
extra trouble writing because of:
1. Anxiety
2. Depression
3. Lack of fitness
4. Nutritional deficiency
5. Perfectionism
6. Belief in a condition that may not exist
7. Lack of chocolate
8. Lack of breast milk in my life
9. Lack of proper breathing
10. Spontaneous change in my frontal lobe
11. Obsession with the Internet
12. Lack of imagination
13. Lack of white bulls
14. Lack of big stones, windowless huts with icewater baths
15. Lack of work ethic
16. A desire to starve because Freud said so
Hmm. Well, I must say I sort of feel better for writing all
that down, writer’s block or not. So I think I’ll work on Chapter Four.
…Steak. Sally bought steak for
dinner. Steak, baked potatoes with normal sour cream, real bacon bits and no
salad. Not one vegetable, apart from the potato. Beer. She bought a case
of beer and set up dinner in front of the TV. There were no candles, no
flowers. She was ready to go at half past six. Sally had bathed for an hour and
put on her special crimson dress with the clandestine side-slit. Her hair
was up and a few tendrils graced her freckled back.
At half past seven
Steve arrived. He brought his briefcase home, along with his gym bag and
six bottles of Kokanee, one already open. “Shit!” He stubbed his toe on the leg
of the kitchen table and belched. He looked around and smiled to himself…
Nice. Well that worked. I’ll do the
laundry later.
The Whistler Writers Festival
takes place Sept. 14-17.