We’ve all heard about “writer’s block.” It happens to everyone. It’s either an agonizing brain disorder or a poor excuse. A couple minutes of sitting at the desk with the pen poised and no words flowing out leads to time spent away from the desk to clear the brain. Time spent away from the desk leads to… more time spent away from the desk, and the idiotic vain hope that the perfect thought that will recommence the writing flow will bolt down like lightning to strike the writer straight in the brain (actually, it does happen sometimes — but I don’t advise relying on it).
Or you could just write whether or not you know what to write. It may not be a masterpiece, but it’s still practice.
Sometimes I wonder if my writer’s block is truly “writer’s sloth.” Translation: sheer laziness. And I’m increasingly convinced that it is.
And, another brief unedited quip from one of my journals that seems appropriate enough here:
When a writer’s mind grows dull, it must be sharpened. When the pen is too-long absent from the hand, it grows awkward. When words cease bubbling in the brain, it is difficult to summon them forth again. The gears of the hand will rust, stick, and petrify — the process will become a nuisance. Best not to neglect and crumble, better to remain diligent and faithful.