Things that happen to us during a Writer’s Block

As the new emotion sets in, crippling the ecosystem of life and everything that is, we find ourselves, those who express through writing—that a new compulsion now attracts, leading things into array, the endless game of procrastination that prevails.

Yes, we’ve all had moments when we did not even feel like looking at our own pieces, let alone write anything new. It’s really a dull moment, when the birds have stopped chirping, skies crying foul over our existence—the prints that seem most unimportant to you now.

I too, with only as much I can do, there is no escaping the emotional element at play for most of our concrete lives, yet fairly surrendered to the abstract nature of our existence.

And suddenly, the realization that the rainbows are not so beautiful anymore, summer never did intend on reciprocating any sort of prose when you held your lovers hands, or what is art—the crowded mind that wants to write but the on-goer never reads, roses start rebelling and rainfall starts re-collecting any positive vibe it may have previously shared with us.

Not only does life start re-adjusting itself into a new line of nothingness, but an eruption of emptiness that isolates. Soon we find ourselves thinking about all that could have been written about during the days lost to the block.

Sunshine will want to penetrate inside the room which has your beautiful mind forever stagnant, but it is you, and I, those who have been overwhelmed by writer’s block, to understand.

So I try to pick myself, with the last energy I have been left with, only to avoid any form of creative writing. There is a vast world of misconception that writers can create art incessantly, and for most of the part, I would agree, if only the mind were not at play all the time perhaps.

“I really need to edit my novel,” you think to yourself and somehow you promise that you will, but the next morning has already set in, and the morning after next is looking like same. And everything that is you, is now at the mercy of your mind.

So you take a little shower, and while doing so, an imagination most outrageous, but a perfect scene to complete your last piece, is what you’re thinking to yourself. Speedily, with the white towel dripping, you are seated, with a red pen one of the left hand, and unwrapped sheets which you could find on the other, really wanting to write whatever you just thought of a few seconds ago.

But nothing pours, and all that is, long looks at the curious walls and the carefree curtains, yet again succumbed to the careless conditionals of this life.

So what is it really, things we learnt from our own, most different writers block experiences? I would say that it was later taught to me—the urgency to write whenever we are having our ‘good days’, because it is only during this time that we can.

-Yogesh Chandra