What It Feels Like
I have some serious writer’s block.
I can’t think of anything to write about.
It feels like when you can’t quite think of a word…you can almost think of it, almost, but not quite. And the harder you try to think of it, the closer/further away it gets.
It feels like dry heaves.
It feels like your best friend just stole your best baby name. Because she’s pregnant and you’re not.
It feels like your sister married your first boyfriend.
It feels like tying a ball game. Kissing your brother.
Having writer’s block feels like being 9 days past your due date and your doctor telling you he doesn’t induce until you’re two weeks late.
It’s like sitting in the plane on the tarmac, with no food or water and sometimes, when you think the spark might be breaking through (almost but not quite breaking through) there is a screaming baby on that plane.
It’s like the right pants in the wrong color.
Rain on your wedding…wait, that’s irony, not writer’s block.
A fire that won’t catch. A pot that won’t boil. A sneeze that won’t come and stays stuck, tickling the back of your nose and making your eyes water.
It’s dangerous, desperate. I know why writers drink, smoke, have crazy sex with strangers and travel to far off lands. I get it. If the block lasts long enough it will drive you crazy. If you don’t break through, it feels like death, like impotent rage, like silent screaming, like fading wallpaper.
It’s a long trailer on a curvy road.
It’s part of the gift, part of the curse, part of the life you choose when writing chooses you. Part of the deal you make with your muse – part of the way it is when words are your hell and your salvation.