On Waste
I love staying inside on a perfectly beautiful day. Drawing the shades. Grabbing a book. Not moving.
I don’t want to write.
I have an hour—a precious hour—free. Carved out for this purpose.
And here I am.
Adjusting my glasses for the 1,000th time.
Opening tabs for marketing articles I don’t need to read.
Scrolling through “hot takes” on the Ballerina Farm piece.
Checking my group text message chain—oh, someone’s got a new beau.
Taking another sip of lukewarm water—should I get up to get ice?
Bouncing to my email tab—no new messages.
And the blank page just stands in front of me. The stark white glows nearly blue off the page, like a snowbank hugged in a winter twilight mist, making the absence of text even more noticeable.
A formidable mental opponent.
Writer’s block.
Perhaps a writer’s least favorite two words.
But even though this ghost sometimes haunts my drafts, I’m not convinced writer’s block is all that bad.
Actually, it can lead to something magical if we push past it.
When I was a junior in college, I was a TA for a brilliant professor. Her research spanned the intersection of neuroscience and literature, a fascinating duality I dove into head-first and never looked back.
For her, writer's block was a blank page.
It was the only time I’d ever seen her unsure, second-guess herself or her ideas.
Whether we were writing for grant funding, a scholarly article, an academic paper, or a presentation, she couldn’t start from scratch.
The clean slate triggered a mental block.
So, when we were co-writing, I’d fill the page with anything—an old paper, book review, lab results, story ideas, just words on a page. Words we’d ultimately delete.
But once the first words were there, adding to them didn’t seem as intimidating.
That starting place felt like a launch pad and propelled her mind (and fingers) into action.
Before we knew it, the hours blurred in a haze of productivity—like nothing existed beyond the poorly lit room on the fifth floor of Wells Hall, Mansfield Park, stale vending machine coffee, and the fMRI results from our tests.
Magic.
Everyone experiences writer’s block differently. And it’s not always the same culprit—like the blank page—every time.
And I think it comes from several sources.
Writing and thinking are fused—nearly one and the same.
Whether you’re writing creatively or for work, there’s a lot of mental gymnastics that happens to create something good, something worth reading.
You have to interrogate your topic critically and ask yourself several questions:
Turning these questions over in your mind, like molding playdough in your hand, can become tiring, especially when you do it day in and day out.
When I feel myself inching into this mental exhaustion territory, I stop and try to sit in the feeling, respecting where it’s coming from.
Giving myself a moment of levity and grace feels calming. It takes the pressure off and often relieves me from the burden I’m facing.
I view it as a natural signal to take a break. Stand up. Refill my coffee. Water my flowers. Give my husband a hug. Listen to the hum of passing cars on my front porch swing.
When I give myself a moment to do those things, I can come back to the draft with a fresh perspective (and sometimes a fresh bunch of flowers from the rose beds).
Since writing and thinking are so linked, writer’s block is usually more of a thinking problem than a writing problem.
If I find myself stuck in a draft and unsure where to go next, it’s usually a sign that I need to think a bit deeper about my subject. That might look like:
You are your toughest, harshest, most unrelenting critic.
And that voice can be a big problem when you’re trying to be productive.
It makes you second-guess yourself, your ideas, your words.
It can also make you fearful—what if someone doesn’t like your draft, value your perspective, or get where you’re coming from?
All of these things can cause your word well to dry up.
When I’m feeling this way, I always like to remind myself that not everything I write has to be groundbreaking, change the world, win awards, or fill my cup.
Sometimes, it just has to be done. And that’s more than good enough.
Relieving myself of that pressure feels good and can help me push past that hurdle and complete my assignment.
Writing is hard work. And sometimes, it’s easy to put off that hard work and save it for another day, a better day, a day with more “inspiration.”
But inspiration isn’t elusive fairy dust gracefully bestowed upon you.
It’s not something that happens to you.
It’s something you inspire; you create.
Reclaiming the agency of inspiration is powerful and helps me understand that I’m the only one standing in the way of a finished draft.
And I won’t stand in my way today.
Neither will you.
So, next time you experience writer’s block, remember to interrogate where it’s coming from, adjust your approach, and write through it.
Write anyway.
I love staying inside on a perfectly beautiful day. Drawing the shades. Grabbing a book. Not moving.
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