Writer's block

That frustrating feeling when what you want to write and what you can write bear no resemblance to one another.

I can write a blog.  I can write in my journal.  I can write a paragraph about how when I spilled the milk, it looked like the moon.  I can write responses to a friend’s critique and defend those aspects I feel are important to the passage I sent.  Can I pick up and carry on with the main body of the piece?  No.

I’ve had ideas and I know where they’ll fit into the story.  I’ve even picked up the laptop several times to set to work.  When I open the document though, I just stare at it and end up wandering off over the Internet or picking up a book to read instead.

This started while I was reading Atonement by Ian Mcewan, a book with which I was somewhat disillusioned.  It’s achieved great critical acclaim but I can’t think why.  It’s over written.  It’s all description, very little event.  Perhaps my subconscious thinks why bother when something that really isn’t that great is received with such applause.  Surely what it should be thinking is if that can be lauded and awarded, then there’s no reason mine can’t be too.

There was also the problem of cover art and how I’m going to find something that suits both the style and the content without infringing anyone’s copyright or having to pay a large fee.  The answer of course is to create it myself, but how and what, and when and where?  Have I stopped writing because finishing will bring me up against that question?  Why don’t I sort it out now then when I do finish, it’s all ready to put together?

I’ve been pretty much nocturnal for a while too.  Maybe I can’t write because I’m just too tired and unfocussed.

Of course, there’s no deadline and nothing depending on the completion.  It’s only a whim really.  Perhaps if I set myself a deadline I might get going.  But then if I set the deadline, I can extend or waive it on a whim just like I set out writing.  Maybe I should ask someone else to set a date for completion.  Someone of whom I’m obliged to take notice.  Yet I know what I’m like and I’ll procrastinate then dash something out with no time to spare and I’ll not be happy with the results.

There’s also the possibility that I’ve dreamed I already wrote it so to my subconscious it’s done and dusted.  It wouldn’t be the first time that had happened.  When your dreams are so real you can’t tell the difference, you have to wonder whether it is writer’s block after all.