I’ve never been one to succumb to this disastrous entity for too long. Spending a max of half an hour before the ideas come swirling back, and my mad rush to the computer ends in me tripping over my own two feet, in order to quickly release all the ideas that came to me after a half an hour under water.
But this time is different.
Instead of a few feet underneath, I’m drowning in the depths of the ocean. Being pushed down further and further by my inability to come up with anything new that’s worthy of being put into a final product.
Being the person that I am, I’ve seen this as incompetence. That this shouldn’t happen to someone like me who writes practically every day. That I should be able to easily, without an issue, sit down and write something original every time. Not being able to except the fact that writers block is a reality for practically every writer on the planet, and that I am not an exception to that, was extremely idiotic of me.
Ideas have always been the easy part of writing for me. People would ask me how I come up with the ideas that I do, and I would never be able to give them a straight answer. Because I had no idea. I just did.
I like to think that the ideas are still there, waiting to be accessed, but their behind locked doors. And the key just so happens to be a thousand feet under ground. And here I am trying to dig my way to get to it. But I get stuck on big boulders of self doubt, and my shovels broken, and It’s just sooooo exhausting. So in the end, I give up. Close my laptop, throw down my shovel, and hope as hard as I can, that an earthquake reveals it to me.
I know it’s temporary, and I know it’s a hundred and ten percent normal, but it sucks. I hate every millisecond of silence that consumes me.
But for every millisecond of silence, I’m one millisecond closer to a brand new idea.
I just hope it comes quickly.