Writer’s Block and Idea Inundation
Writer’s Block and Idea Inundation
Two halves of the creative coin
There are few writers who’ve never heard of writer’s block and even fewer who’ve never suffered from its paralyzing throes. The blank page and idling cursor are familiar foes of the computer-equipped creator. And there’s no shortage of videos and articles on how to address that feeling when our ideas just won’t flow onto paper — or queue themselves onto neat little lines spread across computer screens.
Entire books have been written on what to do when linguistic constipation arises. But little is out there to address those writers who battle with obsessive bouts of verbal diarrhea or prose overflow.
As I began writing seriously, I labored over every single topic I covered. It was only the very rarest of ideas that actually warranted recording. I’d spend nearly every moment typing something new with a nagging voice pressing, “Does this even work?” I’d force myself into conniptions over each new essay, constantly fearing that the final product was inevitably destined for a virtual garbage bin.
But as more and more projects wound their way toward publication, I was stunned each new time that a seemingly half-digested series of thoughts had coalesced into something cohesive when read back. And as I’ve continued writing, I’ve been delighted to find that there’s nearly no idea that can’t be turned into something worth reading with a little effort and ingenuity.
When I was a child, my father told me I could make a story out of anything if I tried — even a pencil. A decade and some loose change shy of truly writing still myself, I simply scoffed at the idea. But the notion sat nascent for years, and it wasn’t until only a couple of weeks ago that one of my wonderful friends gave me the opportunity to challenge that stubborn naivety and finally write my long overdue pencil story.
Before beginning to share my words online, my world of writing was confined largely to high school essays. For a while, I thought it was impossible to write without a prompt — and a pointed one, at that. To even write a creative story was a request I simply couldn’t comply with in my fledgling days as a budding scribe.
Eventually, out of school, my writing began to take the form of long-winded Facebook rants. Though these screeds did modestly well for a social media app once dominated by pokes and Farmville ads, it was only once every month or two in the years after high school that I felt genuinely called to a computer to write.
But now with nearly 600 articles to my name, I find it harder than ever before to resist that siren song. Each day I greet with an enthralling overload of feelings that want to be explored and ideas yearning to be examined. And I feel overwhelmed in the most beautiful way possible.
Before even getting to typing, there are hours that can be happily spent each day going back and forth with kind, thoughtful, and like-minded creatives.
And then once I do get around to writing, I feel blissfully torn between a hundred different directions.
Do I write another essay about one of my 500 favorite movies and cartoons? Do I continue making headway in this new musical writing avenue I’ve begun to explore?
Do I dare look at the draft folder that now numbers well over 200? Do I open the Notes app on my phone that brims to overflowing with potential ideas?
Do I examine the file filled with loose phrases that I know belong in some piece, if I could only decide which?
Sometimes the sheer number of possible paths can leave me feeling almost crippled by analysis paralysis. But at the end of the day, there are far worse crises to face as a creator than a little over-stimulation.
It’s hard to believe it was only a couple of years ago that each look at the blank page left me feeling stalled and defeated. Because now when I look into that plain white void, I see the thousand different ideas that want to occupy it. I feel inundated with thoughts. I see a liminal plane that wants to become… something.
Anything.