Crisis
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I still have writers’ block. Even after all these changes, I still have fucking writers’ block and I don’t know why. And it’s not just for The Morning Owl, I’ve been in a mental drought for the past month or so and haven’t been able to draft any new poems, short stories, or novels. Granted, work’s been a bit hectic here and there but other than that, I’d say that I’ve been in a good place mentally and physically. Hell, I went to have my physical for the first time since the pandemic and the doctor said I actually had normal blood pressure for the first time since middle school. Perhaps I’ve been sent a freaking monkey’s paw that’s granted me a relatively decent work-life balance and denied me the ability to simply pick up a pen. Even for this post, I was struggling with settling on some sort of topic—and even after I settled on a topic, it took me even more time to figure out what the hell I wanted to say here until I, again, settled on just letting my slightly inebriated brain flow through Substack’s word processor. Though, I will say, my period of creative silence has not been without its insights.
If there’s any sort of takeaway from my writers’ block though, I’d say that it’s been a humbling experience to have an empty head in that regard. Because of that, I was able to reflect a bit and appreciate my current situation and how far I’d come from being a self-destructive stereotype of a starving artist to being a healthy individual who was able to tackle their depression the right way (although, I will admit that I still play League of Legends from time to time). Sure, this may be the only thing that I’ve gotten out of the drought but I’m just glad that I’m not hearing the demons beckoning me to visit them in hell (it’ll be quite sometime until I see them, I’m sure of it).
I don’t know what’s wrong with me and it’s worrying me. At first it was nice but, shit, I’m ready to go back to work. I’ve been feeling like I’m stuck in the typical dream where you’re running from some sort of monster but I’m moving through gelatin for some reason every time I attempt to write anything—even simply ideas on takeaway napkins. I don’t think that it’s pressure since I try my best to prioritize writing things that I care about before even attempting to entertain strangers on the internet. Perhaps my agnostic ass needs to swing by a church and pray that God sends me some of that divine inspiration from many years ago.
Thankfully, I’ve got a couple of ideas from a while back that I can [hopefully] burn through in the meantime. I just hope that time doesn’t catch up with me and leave me with nothing. Then maybe I can get back to that whole creative writing thing I was doing so well earlier this year. But, of course, if you all want to know what happens next in all of this, you all know where to find more news on that.
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Let us know how it goes, any type of mental block sucks.
I'm digging the work-around plan though, that's movement in itself -- however small it might seem. I can see past ideas becoming the foundation for a totally different creative venture unexpected.
You can be on some Robert Frost shit and take walks -- I don't know, helps me clear my mind.
And as a firm believer of "the process", I know you have what it takes to succeed.
Yer.