I sometimes feel like an apple inside a candied shell.
When I’m stuck, when I don’t have any fresh ideas, I sometimes, as now, sit down and write precisely that. I’m mired, glued, bolted, pinned, frozen. Take your pick. No characters, no plots, no swirling ideas.
There’s no use denying it, so I give the moment its due.
It’s not writer’s block – an unwelcome, if sometimes necessary, pause in the action.
This is all out Writer’s Blank.
At those moments, I question whether writer even applies. I often wonder that anyway – I just like to write.
I acknowledge The Blank because the very act of doing so may provide the drop of oil I need to shift from dead-still-neutral into first gear. It could just be the act of putting pen to paper. Or the honesty of it.
With luck, along comes a memory, image, concern, laughter, or sarcasm.
A seed.
This catharsis happens less than I would like. The reasonable me stops grinding the gears. Grinding is a recipe for gibberish, even if it momentarily spares me from insufficiency – at least until I reread what I wrote during those moments of revving.
Ideas do come. Sometimes they need your own unorthodox way to find you.
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Yes! One time I started writing a poem about how I had no ideas in my brain, and it turned out to be one of my favorite silly poems I’ve ever written! If only it always worked out that way.
Lovely writing