It’s a familiar image: a frustrated writer sits at their desk facing a blank page. The page stares back like an endless void, mocking the writer from a universe away. The writer lifts their fingers to strike a key or pick up a pen, then their motion is arrested by the lack of content for that transcribing instrument. Words float in their head and form nothing. Sometimes a single sentence is laid down. Progress! But it’s deleted, crumpled up, or thrown away.
Writer’s block has been recognized for centuries but the term itself was coined in 1947 by psychoanalyst Edmund Bergler, who believed there was a real, neurotic basis, albeit self-imposed. There is still debate among writers about whether or not it actually exists. Neil Gaiman does not believe in writer’s block, positing that the uniqueness of writers is all the more reason to be suspicious of its existence. It seems an imaginary beast of our own creation, some utter fantasy stealing our voices.
Susan Orlean said in a recent talk with Amy Shearn, the senior editor at Medium:
You manifest what you name.
By giving writer’s block a name, we imbue it with the power to control our creative output. What we don’t do, is find its source. Susan said that sometimes we need to do more research or are struggling to find the words to express ourselves.
The work may need to sit and the writing will have to wait until we’ve done more thinking. From that perspective, a “block” seems a natural part of the creative process when we are not ready to produce. Perhaps it’s worth disengaging with a frustrating roadblock and going where inspiration takes us instead of forcing what will not come.
One thing is for certain, we all envy the prolific writer who pounds out two books per year to glowing praise. We do not have nearly the same admiration for a single, well-crafted novel written over years or even a decade. This may be a result of the current writing landscape where in many circles, consistent content generation is king.
Get it out, on time, three times per week. But there is so much value in the process, not just the product. Performance pressure not only affects the ability to write but in the case of someone like me, the ability to see work as complete.
I, on the other hand, like to give things names. The thing itself becomes demystified and I am able to choose its meaning. When I do not have the language to describe what bothers me, it breeds confusion, frustration, and anxiety. Lately, I’d been in a heightening state I could not pinpoint. I volleyed from file to file, writing bits here and there, sometimes writing a piece in one sitting and publishing, other times collecting a few new ideas I would later develop.
But this menagerie of literary fragments felt like a stack of assignments I would never complete. They were all wonderful and small but open-ended. Before I could concentrate on exploring those ideas, a new, very attractive one would emerge. As a result, I had a bunch of potential energy but nothing that moved. I would close my laptop, put away my phone, and grab a book to escape into another’s writer’s thoughts.
Then it finally hit me: I have writer’s…clog?
Those inspirational fragments piling up was why I had issues with my output and overwhelming stress. I could not juggle more than one or two solid ideas at a time and needed to focus on developing a single idea instead of being perpetually distracted by something new.
My writer’s clog derives from a few sources: intrusive thoughts, vigilance of surroundings, and the illusion of scarcity.
Intrusive thoughts
I suspect intrusive thoughts are what I had as a child. I was overflowing with sentence after sentence or a feeling bursting with flowery poetry. At the time, I was not equipped to contain my ideas or adequately capture them. I carried a pen and paper wherever I went but it was not enough. Too many seeds to sew and not enough space to plant them all. Baby’s first writer’s clog.
Add to that, I became afraid of losing those ideas. Each was so precious that I felt the loss of each idea’s potential when I could not see it through. I was not experienced enough to realize that not every idea is a book. Some might be terrible short stories. Each is a possibility only realized by what I add to it and learn from it.
How I work through it
In a recent stop on their book tour for the memoir, Dear Senthuran, Akwaeke Emezi said they have lost many sentences that could not be retrieved. They still have a flourishing career. It was helpful and validating to hear.
Sometimes an idea goes into the ether. It’s okay. The other night I composed a whole song during a dream, lyrics and all. It’s gone, but that’s the nature of an active creative mind. I work through fear of loss by remembering that not every idea can be saved.
Vigilance: Little fires everywhere
An idea for flash fiction or poetry can come from anywhere. What is fairly benign to someone else could be an igniting spark. Finding inspiration can be as simple (or complex, depending on your perspective) as being more aware of one’s surroundings. If you contemplate a colour or imagine the conversation between two people you see, there are little fires everywhere.
I have always been more an observer than a participant, content to watch and muse about the world around me. In a creative context, too many things become a possibility. There is a state of overstimulation with my surroundings where even attempting distraction in the outdoors has an undesired effect.
How I work through it
To reduce my anxiety, I practice grounding and breathing techniques. An activity meant to be relaxing should not be stressful. I am usually able to calm myself and shift my focus to the present.
I also remember it’s the subjective experience of living that makes my work authentic and connects to readers. Being the one with the most ideas does not.
Creativity as scarcity
We have a scarcity mindset when it comes to creativity.
- Amy Shearn, senior editor at Medium
This is absolutely correct. Sometimes my clog derives from not wanting to have my best ideas used up. What if I waste this quote on a piece of flash fiction when it should be in a book? There is a lack of trust and confidence that I cannot be a well unto myself. Hoarding a good idea leaves it in on the page where it can touch no one.
It’s also a need to be seen and heard. While I recognize (and have written about) putting work out into the void and knowing that not today but someday, it will reach someone, it is still disappointing. Everyone feels the performance pressure of needing to come up with the next hit. The next banger.
I went from 1.6k views on a personal essay last month to a sobering 9 views for my latest flash fiction post. The dopamine rush is like no other but also gets in the way of committing to a piece and seeing it through. It is not up to me whether a hit happens again, so the worry is needless and sucks the joy from writing.
How I work through it
I now have a mantra when I fear good work is scarce:
There will be more.
I have to keep believing that creativity is an excavation into oneself, a process that can be virtually limitless. I can choose a quote for a flash fiction piece and have it shine instead of waiting for a novel that may never be. In the meantime, there are still more ideas below the surface, better ones, more challenging ones. I will someday be pushed to the limit and survive, victorious.
Closing Thoughts
While I do not have the same blocks as other writers, it’s worth bringing to light an issue that, on its face, can produce a similar result. Just as those who struggle to compose, I must contain a flood and divert it. It means I have to do a lot of work piecing ideas together, getting a finished piece out into the world, and feeling confident I can do it again. I also have to accept that a single, short idea is enough. It can stand alone and one day become whatever I please.
There is work to dislodging a creative clog and it starts with naming it, recognizing its sources, and overcoming the negative self-talk that maintains it. The through-line in overcoming creative stalls, by block or by clog, is lessening fear by trusting the ebb and flow of the process and having hope that we can move through them.