I was coerced (not really) into thinking about writer’s block a few days ago, and since I’m currently experiencing a bit of it, I thought I’d write about that instead.
I encounter two different kinds of writers block, three if you count times when I’m trying to write and a half-dozen hot bikini models come and kidnap me.
The first is when I have something to write about, a topic, but I don’t really have the words — this is fairly frustrating. It usually involves me writing the same post two or three times, not liking any of its various incarnations, and scrapping the idea. This also happens when I have something I want to post, but it just loses all entertainment value when I try to add sufficient context. Like long conversations that double back on themselves for a big punchline a while after the setup… it’s hard to translate those into posts… and I generally feel like I’m just not putting it together well.
The other is when I feel like I have the words to write about SOMETHING, but don’t have the first clue what to write ABOUT. At times like this I feel like I’m wasting what little creative talent I have because, damn, I could write something really good right now… if I only had something about which to write! This one doesn’t bother me as much as the first, though…
Yes, I have come to the realization that I ought to write down the topics when I have the first problem, and use them when I have the second problem… and I do, but the latter comes more often than the former.
This came to mind this afternoon, however, because I feel like writing something amusing… but I’m fresh out of amusing, I guess.
Maybe I need to take some cold medicine or something.
if you’re bored, take a pic and submit it to the boobie-thon. that should give us all something to talk about.
http://www.boobiethon.com/
Try standing (or suspending yourself) upside down and letting all the blood rush to your brain. Even if it didn’t help you come up with anything, at least you could write about it.
Writer’s block happens far too often for it’s own good in my life. And somehow I don’t think my non-fiction class would appreciate me writing about pink elephants.