<p><a href="https://vimeo.com/165015837">WRITER'S BLOCK - A Supercut</a> from <a href="https://vimeo.com/bwatts">Ben Watts</a> on <a href="https://vimeo.com">Vimeo</a>.</p>
I was looking for something to understand how I was feeling. Am I the only person that stares at a blank screen in complete agony. I’m not. And neither are you. I think even the best writers sometimes feel like this.
So then I found this video and it was like looking at myself. In my room. Staring at myself in the mirror and wondering what am I doing here.
I would like to imagine that writer’s block didn’t exist. But, what is it that causes us to freeze up when we stare at a blank screen? The cursor flickering slowly. As if strobing us into an inactive trance-like stupor.
It’s probably our fears.
But which fears. Is it just the amalgamation of the entire human condition. All fears just thrown into one catastrophic flurry. Causing us to clog up. Or is t a specific moment.
Personally, I know it is my own fears that keep me stuck or blocked. It is either because I think I will not be good enough or that I don’t know where to start.
I fear that the entire world will read that version and forever condemn me for being a worthless piece of shit that can’t do anything right. But that has never happened. I remind myself often that it never has. For some reason though the fear just comes back.
“Long ago it was much worse. Let me digress and detour down memory lane.”
So long ago when I wrote I wasn’t able to read it to someone or even show it to them. I think this was caused by some silly girl laughing at my first handwritten attempt at a novel. Novel as in three pages back to front. But I was about ten years old. So it felt like a big deal to have written so many pages.
Now I would never have shared it with my mom because she doesn’t have much interest in reading. Neither would I give it to my father because he would allow his own self-esteem and feelings of mediocrity to cloud his critique.
So naturally, I gave it to someone I trusted. A friend.
I think the story was about some boy that lived in a house and then he meets a vampire. This was like fifteen years ago so it wasn’t as if I was copying Twilight. This was just me writing about something. I liked fantasy so this wasn’t that far of a leap.
And then she just laughed. It completely destroyed me.
It completely destroyed me.
Since then every single time I even think of writing something longer than a page I just go back to my childhood. The memory starts replaying and I just freeze up.
I guess that writing about it now helps a lot. I know that it is so stupid of me to still be blocked by this.
So for the time being, I am stuck and blocked and held prisoner by some eight-year-old memory-girl. What’s worse is that she wouldn’t even remember it. For her, it was just a response to something that she didn’t know how to handle.
The more I write about it the less it bothers me.