Writer’s Block: Two Categories and Some Cures
Writer’s block can be the imagination’s warning system, a red light blinking in the back of the brain, a low battery signal, an indicator that something needs our attention (and likely our action) before we can proceed. Whether it arrives after weeks of white-knuckling through burnout and stress, shows up in the wake of a big emergency, or disrupts a productive writing streak seemingly out of the blue, Block cuts the music and the momentum. It stands with its arms crossed in the middle of the road and says absolutely nothing and seems to grow taller and taller while we worry about how to proceed.
Block looks different for everyone, but it shows up in two major forms: an out-going block (a difficulty finding form and words for the thing one needs to say) and an in-going block (a difficultly with feeling inspired and/or motivated). In scatological terms, we might think of these as constipation and congestion. (It is, of course, possible to experience both forms at the same time.) It’s useful to identify which kind you are experiencing because different blocks respond to different tools.
For out-going blocks, I use lists and scavenger hunts to take the pressure off the struggle to give my ideas form. For instance, I will hang a lantern on my problem and write “I’ve got writer’s block, but I want to say...” or “I’ve got nothing but...” or “If I didn’t have writer’s block, I would tell you...” and then use this as a low-stakes arena for working out what I’m trying to say. (I once told a student with a deadline-anxiety block that he could just email me this kind of list for partial credit if couldn’t get his thoughts into paragraphs in a word document—and he promptly wrote a strong draft that started “I’ve got writer’s block...”.) If the list itself doesn’t resolve the block, I might go on a scavenger hunt looking for materials to support my ideas; this might mean browsing through a poetry library looking for forms or moves to try, it might mean looking for a form outside poetry (a recipe, a telegram) to borrow, it might mean doing some (more) research/reading to find just the right image or epigraph or quote. As with so much in the creative process, I’ll know it when I read it aloud and underline it.
For in-going blocks, I find, paradoxically, that I usually need to stop seeking input. If I’m not inspired, it’s often because I’m overwhelmed. I’ve already taken in more (more experiences, more sensory input, more information, more news, more conversations, sometimes just plain MORE) than I can metabolize into words, and my mind has gone a bit numb and foggy in an attempt to slow things down. When I have this kind of block, I find gentle movement practices (yoga, walking etc.) and light physical chores (folding laundry, washing dishes etc.) helpful. Rest, too, can do wonders for an in-going block.
For example, last week I took a class to learn how to process wool and use a spinning wheel to make yarn (things I suspected would be useful metaphors for an essay I am writing). My initial plan was to come home inspired after a day of creative cross-pollinating; I thought I would sit down to write immediately. But I came home from the 6-hour class exhausted and bleary-brained from having met new people (some of them very talkative Characters), learned new skills, and absorbed roughly a semester’s worth of information about textile history and sheep biology. I felt blocked and drained, as if my inspiration had backfired; I didn’t try to caffeinate and white-knuckle my way into creative output (as I might have in my twenties). I walked my dog, caught up on laundry, and got a good night’s sleep. Then I woke with words and images kicking around my brain.
