Almost two (!) years of weekly posts on The Wheelhouse Review and I’ve finally hit it.
The lethal combination of procrastination and empty headedness.
The moment when your mind goes blank and all original, unoriginal, derivative, and blatantly plagiaristic thoughts go into deep hiding.
Yes, that’s right: I’ve come down with a nasty case of writer’s block.
It’s viral, you know. A lengthy incubation period (the better to infect those around you) and a low mortality rate. I blame Juliet. She blames Ryan, who kicks the can down the road to Sarah, patient zero (if you’ll allow me to mix my metaphors, which when down with writer’s block is tantamount to dragging yourself out of bed to go lay on the couch).
I exaggerate: my mind isn’t totally blank, of course. It’s full of habits to incorporate into my year, 2014 budgeting strategies, recipes to try, yoga classes to attend. Wonderful things, all of them, but they do not a post make, unless “7 Easy Daily Smoothie Recipes for the Yogi on a Budget” is the new BuzzFeed quiz/Upworthy video/political troll post to rocket to success, as success is defined by Google Analytics.
I could try some haikus, but Ryan gets territorial. I could write something thoughtful and considered on the culture news i obsessively consume, but who has the time for that? I could send you on a delightful rabbit trail of links from my Feedly and Twitter, post some Olympic gif roundups, throw in an amazing Miley Cyrus video and call it a day, but just typing that sentence cost me twenty minutes of cute animal videos on YouTube. And what a waste of time; we all know this video is the only one that will ever matter:
Despite what this video may lead you to believe, you’re still better off walking like a penguin this winter, no matter how silly you feel doing it.
Writing is a discipline, they say. It’s not supposed to be fun. You’re supposed to do it every day, whether you want to or not, preferably in the wee dark hours of the morning. The words should flow out of your fingers like blood from a turnip.
And like any discipline – the gym, your daily greens, flossing – some days you just don’t feel like it but do it anyway. And on a few – a rare, precious few – of those days, you run your best mile ever or have a transcendent moment over a cauliflower, capers, soft boiled egg, roasted lamb and wilted romaine salad. But on many more of those days, there’s a 20 minute wait for the elliptical, they’re out of towels and you forgot your headphones at home. Or worse: you end up back on your couch after an innovative meal of penne, shredded cheddar and canned green chile at which even your college self would have turned up her nose. This post, dear reader, is the equivalent of that culinary nightmare I not but two hours ago thought up, “cooked” and consumed for dinner, knowing in my heart of hearts that the odds of flossing before bed are approaching 50 to 1.
And so it goes. (By “it” I mean of course the word count, which has reached an acceptable level for a writer’s block post.) Sometimes you can write yourself out of a corner, get the juices (ew) flowing (gross!). And sometimes you can’t. C’est la vie.
What you can do, however, is close this tab and go watch House of Cards Season 2 on Netflix. How does Claire maintain such an impeccable wardrobe, and how much do you think she pays for her haircuts? Do you think she does Pilates or yoga? Share your thoughts in the comments!