The Great Obstruction

I have writer's block.

And I say that like I have a disease or something. Except it's one that builds up a great big bloody wall in my head. On one side, there's my creativity, my ability to cohesively string words together into some sort of descriptive piece, crafting stories with deft flicks of a keystroke. And on the other side there's me, seeing this blank wall stretching in either direction for as far as the eye can see. Too long to go around, too high to climb over.

And of course, these things never suddenly appear. They creep up on you, built brick by brick by an army of gnomes. You can't tell it's happening at first. It starts to take longer to write a scene, as the wall's foundations are laid. Then, as the wall gets higher, and it starts to trip you, it gets harder to find the write words with which to begin, until, finally, you're sat there, hands poised over the keyboard, ready to begin, but nothing comes. You know what you want to write, but the words just aren't there. It's been thirty minutes, and still nothing. And when you finally look up, you see the wall, staring at you.


The most terrifying thing about writers block is that it feels like you're never going to write again. I know it's false, that eventually the wall will go, and I'll write again.

I just need a bit of time to let the foundations crumble, and I can smack that wall with a bloody wrecking ball.

Well, at least my knack for hyperbole hasn't left me!