Charles Bukowski once said, “Writing about a writer’s block is better than not writing at all.” So here goes…
I am rarely lost for words. Anyone who has shared space with me knows that thoughts tend to spill out of me like a waterfall during spring thaw. Words, lots and lots of them, scrambling toward my lips (or fingertips), fighting for precedence. That’s just how I roll. It’s not that I’m a bad listener — I’m capable of stopping the flow and opening my ears for a while — but when it’s my turn to talk (or type), I rarely hold back.
Lately, I’ve had a bad case of writer’s block. I sit down from time to time to draft a blog post, usually after I’ve been struck by some epiphany that just has to be shared with the world. But when I put my fingers to the keyboard, the epiphany becomes confusing or mundane… or my words feel preachy… or something else stops me from finishing the thought.
I know I’m exhausted from the six or more times that I have gone through my novel; from the rich but humbling feedback I have been given — am still being given, and trying to process — by both of my editors; from summer camps and farmers’ markets and house showings and dinners with friends and soccer and ball hockey and all the other stuff that fills my days of summer. It’s all great fun… I have absolutely nothing to complain about. It just doesn’t leave a lot of energy for such things as creative writing.
I’m quite sure there are dozens of posts building within me, and they’ll probably burst out of me at the same time. But for now, I’m trying not to force the issue. So this morning, I will enjoy a cup o’ joe at my favourite bakery while I look up everything I can find about the battle of Dieppe — the cheery topic I have chosen as the historical backdrop for my second novel. And I’ll enjoy the Leonard Cohen cover playing gently over the speaker above my head while I look out at the blue sky, savouring a moment to myself.