If you’ve read this blog before you’ll know that I’ve blathered about my writer’s block many a time. The fact that four months later it’s still going strong (and preventing me from getting an awful lot of things done) means that I’m having to rethink my writing commitments.
Obviously this sucks. In addition to letting people down, I’m having to come to terms with the fact that writing may not be for me.
Which is tricky since writing has always been for me.
Ever since I wrote a short story about a magic pizza base aged 7 (disgustingly full of product placement – that’s what growing up off a high street will do to a child), penned the first issue of a fanzine for my girl’s club aged 8 (my Dad let me use his laptop) and wrote an account of the Passover story aged 9 that had my Jewish teacher ask if I was Jewish, I’ve always wanted to write. I don’t know what, just something.
And since starting blogging a year ago, I expected to gradually improve. But I’m not. If anything I’m getting worse. I’m no longer pleased with whatever I write. Or I get bored and don’t bother to finish the post. It’s troublesome at best and distressing at worst because it begs the question “What am I supposed to do with my life now?” Without wanting to go all emo I feel a bit lost because, for the first time, I don’t know what direction I’m going in career-wise.
Strangely it feels like a sort of rejection. For some reason I’ve decided that my writing just isn’t good enough. And unlike being rejected by a boy, it’s not something that a slutty dress and lipgloss can cure. Not that I would revert to such measures anyway *ahem*.
But what also feels awful is the fact that I have no clue where this writer’s block came from. It could be down to any one of the following:
1. I started full-time work a few months ago, not long before the writer’s block kicked in. Maybe my minute brain can’t cope with more than 45 piddly hours of exertion a week? If so then I’m screwed. Nobody gets successful without putting in evenings and weekends.
2. Being surrounded by incredibly clever and talented people with brilliant projects is great most of the time – I have no shortage of excellent advice and I feel better about working all weekend if I know several others are too. The rest of the time? Well, it kinda makes everything you do look inadequate, sub-standard and a bit pointless. And using youth as an excuse gets dull after a while.
3. I just don’t have anything to say. Opinions aren’t all they’re cracked up to be, right?
So what now? I don’t have a fucking clue. If anyone needs me I’ll be weeping into a City Lit prospectus.
Flickr image from orijinal‘s photostream