Facing the Wall

Writer’s block is a crazy thing. One day, you’re just typing away about Lindsay Lohan’s great ideas and life choices and the next you’re writing “um” four hundred times on a screen and then using keystrokes to edit the fonts. Every time you (I, specifically) sit down in front of a computer, all that comes out of your (my)fingers and brain are the most inane thoughts, as opposed to the standard earth-shaking brilliance this blog has remained unknown for.

I was talking to the Lascivious Lemur at work, whose sole goal for this blog and all things internet-related is to be featured in them, and he said, “If you have writer’s block, why not write about it?” And, unlike the time he thought Adamantium was a real element, the Lemur was right. I find whenever I’m having trouble writing or finding a character or making good improv, the rest of my life isn’t doing so hot either. Not when I am angry or really sad. Those emotions are artistic gold; I would give anything for the kind of mood that induces crying on the subway. Not righteous indignation, like the kind that my frenemy, the sexually magnetic walking malapropism, Rick Santorum, can inspire; nor shame nor anger. No, writer’s block comes when I feel numb.


Thanks bro!

Life is so stressful. Mine certainly less so than people who face real strife like poverty, war, and disease. Still, it’s easy to get caught up in the day-to-day stresses like where I will be in five years and if I’m doing everything I can to get there and if I’m going to meet someone who will love me and am I’m working hard enough to have a career and will a career make me happy and wishes come true not free and really should only Faulkner be able to write in stream of consciousness and why am I like, the only person who really doesn’t like David Sedaris’ writing and is Jenny McCarthy secretly ashamed of what she’s done but lacking the character to be honest about it and am I hungry and is Benedict Cumberbatch handsome or just charming. And after all that neurosis, it’s easy to be afraid of doing or saying or writing something dumb. And once you start being afraid of sucking, it’s easier to do and say nothing than to risk it. ugh

According to Anais Nin (and many, many inspirational Pinterest boards), “And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom.” Bullshit. Opening up is always the most painful part. And there is no guarantee that opening up will lead to something beautiful. Often, making yourself vulnerable only leads to a disaster. But even disaster is better than being too afraid to let anything happen at all.


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