When the Writer's Block Hits Hard

"And so saying he chopped off his head with a giant axe and then they lived happily ever after."

That's some kind of crap that flows out of your system when you run blank on your biggest passion. Four posts in 14 months, isn't something to be proud of. And giving myself 101 reasons (excuses) why not to write every time I think about opening Word, all the while searching for that one ass-kicking reason as to why I should actually sit up, open Word and start typing a few pieces of my mind, wasn’t helpful either.

So, after many months of crunching under why-do-such-things-happen-to-me -in-life stuff that I've got so used to and moving 12,000 miles away from where my last post came from and giving a million unkept promises to V on how I wouldn’t sleep for the day without writing my next post, I happen to sit up in this hour of evening, looking out of my window at the parking lot, flanked by the autumn colors glowing in the evening sun, switching my eyes between the autumn orange, and the giant Evergreen trees that dot the entire state of Washington, wondering if I’ve at last found my ass-kicking reason to actually write something.

Well, I still don't know. But I did read temporal’s poessay and his question – "Is there an affliction known as writer's block? Or is it an overblown condition to camouflage fear, lethargy or lack of discipline?" I know it’s not a Writer’s block. Writers with a block open Word and not know what to type, but they don’t give 101 reasons (excuses) why not to even open Word.

"Just write down a thought – the first thought you have and put it on the page. Slowly, more words will follow and the haze would lift", says temporal in his poessay. Ah well, that sounds neat. What’s my first thought? There seem to be many first thoughts, the nice ones – there’s V, there’s these interesting things I did and interesting things I should do and interesting things I should have done long back but didn’t, and the ones I don’t want to think about, though they engulf like god-knows-what. There must be something in this world I could write about, if only I could make a word for the thought.

"So friend, despair not...look around and write that first word. Good luck!", temporal completes his poessay. I don’t despair. I look around. I look at the fading sunlight, the autumn colors diminishing into the grayscale, parking lot filling up as people end their weekday and flock back into their homes, a few work emails waiting to be read, a can of beans baking in the oven. So where do I look for that first word? Have I really found my ass-kicking reason to write something? Well, I still don’t know.