I am suffering from writer’s block.
I don’t know what it feels like to anyone else. But for me it’s like a sort of mental numbness, a lack of feeling in my thought muscles. It’s as if a family of badgers have made a nest in my brain and have gone into hibernation.
I’ve been trying to work on a new book, inspired by my recent trip to Europe. While staying in the north of Italy my parents and I went on a day trip to the old city of Verona. It was pouring with rain. The sky was dark and close. The city – which is pretty old and earthen, one of those powerful medieval cities that make travelling in Europe so amazing – was thronging with people. Of course they were all making their way to la Casa di Giulietta; Juliette’s house.
I was moved by Verona. I was inspired by Verona. I was determined from the moment I arrived in the city that I was going to set a story there. Granted Shakespeare beat me by a few centuries, but dammit he wasn’t a fantasy writer. Unless you count A Midsummer Night’s Dream.
Arriving back at our accommodation – a farmhouse/B&B in a place called Casabalbato, just outside Parma – I took out my pen and paper and set to work. As the storm broke over the Italian countryside my mind was entering a fantasy world; an alternate Italy in the middle ages. Suddenly characters, scenes, languages, symbols, creatures… they all came flooding into my mind. My hand could hardly keep up with my brain. I could see relationships between people, magical scenes, whole settings, action, everything! The whole book… no, a whole trilogy began to play out like a movie right before my mind’s eye.
If only my mind’s eye knew how to type.
It’s all well and good being able to see everything you want to capture in a book. Actually putting it into words is much more difficult.
I have trouble with words, which is a pretty bad outlook for a prospective writer. Some writers can churn out thousands of words a day (yes, I’m looking at you Alexander McCall Smith). I on the other hand sit at the computer and stare at the screen willing the words to come to me and, continuing on in this fashion, I can go days, weeks, even months without writing a single word. Seriously – I’m not making this up for comic effect, but as I sit here trying to write this post a spider has literally started making a web between the laptop and my hip.
Writing all depends on approach and method. I have heard so many ways that writers go about their craft, and ways they combat writers block. Some (damn you Sandy!) are just geniuses and can write for long stretches of time every day. Others treat writing like a job, with set hours where they sit down and write. Some writers make daily or weekly deadlines that they have to meet.
I wish I had that much discipline. I treat writing the same way I treat everything I do – impulsively and sporadically. My mind is a constant whir of inspiration and ideas, and my time is a constant vacuum filled by work, Facebook (when I still had an account) and, most recently, Avatar: The Last Air Bender. I have trouble focusing and I can only really write when a bolt of inspiration comes to me.
That’s why writer’s block is so annoying for me. Right now I am in another sudden flood of inspiration for this Italy book. Once more I can see the scenes playing out in my head. But I can’t for the life of me think of the words. The badgers have well and truly settled in. They’ve insulated the den and filled the empty spaces with stores of… well, whatever it is that badgers eat. I’m not even sure if badgers hibernate, come to think of it. Actually I’m convinced that badgers are the fictional creation of Kenneth Grahame intended as a joke, and David Attenborough hasn’t seen the punch line yet.
But none of this is helping me with my writer’s block.
So I find myself here at 1am; sitting in my room, trying to meditate, realising I don’t know how to meditate, wishing I was back in Italy because even if I was still unable to write at least I’d be in Italy. I’ll try anything to let the words flow. Perhaps my last chance is to find some sort of pest exterminator or animal rescue service that can deal with my mental badgers.
I wonder if David Attenborough makes house calls.
