Blocks
What usually comes to mind when youΒ think of “writer’s block”? Is it the blank page or flashing cursor on the screen? The stories and words that won’t be fully formed in yourΒ mind? Or is it that elusive idea that seemed clear, yet now seems far away? It’s commonsense thatΒ writer’s block is aΒ fearΒ of writing itself. A blockedΒ writer freezes up like a reluctant diver stuck at the top of the 30 meterΒ platformΒ orΒ a spelunkerΒ unable to enter the cave. AllΒ wish to dive in,Β but they are paralyzed by fear. Blocked.
Recently I saw writer’s blockΒ in a wholeΒ new way. Neither writingΒ nor the fear ofΒ writing areΒ the true sourceΒ ofΒ the blockade. RatherΒ writing acts asΒ a big overwhelming distraction. It stands in the way and keeps you from noticing something else. You’re not blocked from writing. But rather the writing blocks you from something elseΒ by distracting you!
What exactly mightΒ a big ole giant writing projectΒ distract you from? ItΒ distracts you and overwhelms you and prevents you from feeling whatever it is that your unconscious doesn’t wantΒ you to feel. In fact the unconscious is filled with everyday tensions, chronic anxieties, and ancient unresolved feelings of anger, rage, disappointment, sadness, disgust, as well asΒ other socially questionableΒ thoughts and feelings. The unconsciousΒ is like a prison guard determined not to let those reprobate feelings and beliefs out!
The writing itself β yourΒ book, poem, essay,Β orΒ devotional —Β in sneaking fashion becomes part of the prison system, one of the jailers, that keeps your dangerous feelings hidden from you. “Hey look at me! I’m an impossible and daunting task!” says the writing. “Focus on me! See how I’m going to exhaust you and ruin your life, and you’ll forget all about those wayward feelings from your past.”
Many who read this won’t believe, but the ones who are willing to suspend their disbelief canΒ try the following exercise. Julia Cameron, Naomi Goldberg, Robert Boice are wise writers about the writing process, and they each support thisΒ plan: try a brief, timed session of free-writing. Fifteen minutes will do. Don’t exceed 25. Don’t lift your pen from paper or fingers from keys. Go until your timer says stop.
Free writing with no restraints is like a secret underground tunnel that lets the blocked feelings and other bunkΒ find their way out firstβ¦ There will be shame and rage and sadness and longing. You’ll seeΒ old stories of your deep down blueprint about what you believe about yourself come pouring out. Eventually. These feelings and beliefs are the safety strategies from your infancy and childhood that keep masquerading as “helpful” even though you’re an adult now. And the threats perceived in your young life are no longer real, present or dangerous.Β These feelings and beliefsΒ are mirrors of the major traumas and chronic disappointments of your early experience, and if you put your pen on paper and don’t hold back they will come flowing out in a flood of words and images, ideas and beliefs. And when they are all out laying there helpless on the paper they will no longer be as big or overwhelming.
They can’t distract or block you if you simply let them out.
The writing becomesΒ possible because the writing no longer needs to be the jailer but instead can become a chaplainΒ for your healing process. TheΒ writingΒ becomes not only possible, butΒ urgent, pulling you forward. It will flow not inΒ perfection, but in situatedΒ possibility. And by sitting calmly and patiently for one brief sessionΒ at a time, and giving the prisoners a way out through the end of your pen orΒ your fingertips pressed to keys, you will find the liberation you’ve been seeking. And the stories and poemsΒ and essays and books you know are somewhere in you can be patiently invited into the worldβ¦ Bit by bit, word by word orΒ as Anne LamottΒ puts it “bird by bird” instead of block by block.
