Hello readers, LGBTQA folks, dykes, dappers, butches, and everyone in-between! It’s your pal Dykey here to talk to you about writer’s block. I know, I know, how can I have writer’s block if I’m blogging right now? Yes, I realized that, but a blog-to me-is just not the same as pulling out a pen and a few sheets of looseleaf paper, sitting down in a comfy chair or at my desk, and writing a good story right before my eyes. Blogging just comes at an easier price; you start up your computer/tablet/phone and open up your app or type the website into the search bar, and ta da! You’re all set to blog to your heart’s content. I don’t know about you, reader, but I find it pretty damn difficult to get writer’s block over a blog.
I remember when I was ten years old, and the summer had just started. Three months to do whatever the hell I wanted. I was hopelessly bored that afternoon, and my mom suggested that I paint a picture or something. After all, I had a set of watercolors sitting on my desk, so why not?
Well, I did paint a picture, or attempted to do so (my painting skills were not up to par back then), but the appeal was lost on me within fifteen minutes. After my third preschool-level flower of smeared primary colors, I gave up and sat on my bed in a huff. As I sat there belittling my already terrible artwork in woe, one of my school binders slid from it’s spot on my pillow down to my leg. I opened it and noticed all the of extra looseleaf paper that I hadn’t had a chance to use during the school year, and the inspiration hit me like a freight train. Within seconds, I had seated myself on my bed, tucking and situating my many pillows around me, and grabbed a pen from my pen-jar. I could barely get the binder open before the ideas started flowing out of me. I was attempted to get the ink flowing through my pen with a few test scribbles, but my imagination wouldn’t tolerate that. I needed to start writing right then and there.
I quickly scratched a title into the top of the page, and the story-writing had begun. My hand could barely keep up with the words that were flowing through my mind, like a dog-walker trying to keep up with Usain Bolt. My heart rate picking up, I could feel my face growing red with the strain of writing so fast. My fingers ached and cramped, forced to stay in their current position for what felt like hours at a time.
At long last, I flopped back against the wall, letting my pen roll out my of sweaty and ink-smeared hand. Looking down with bloodshot, hungry eyes, I examined the artwork laying in my lap. My first story, and a damn long one, too. As I flipped through the papers, once so clean and now marred with black and blue ink, and I felt a swell of pride with every turn of the page. At ten years old, on a random summer afternoon, I had written fifty pages of what would be my first ever novel.
Now what was the point of this story, reader? To give you a peek into my childhood for shits and giggles? If I wanted that, I would have just posted pictures of the outfit I wore on my first day of school. I wanted this post to, hopefully, help explain that writer’s block wasn’t always there. In fact, it didn’t occur for years after that, and just last year I had to deal with it for the first time.
Nowadays you’ll hear that even the greatest writers had their problems with WB, but they still continued to write, didn’t they? WB is a temporary obstacle in your way. It could last hours, weeks, maybe even years like in my case. But it is still temporary, and you do find that spark of inspiration again. Hell, maybe it’ll hit you when you’re doing your dishes tonight, and you’ll hurry to scrawl a few lines on your dinner plates.
In fact, I had that spark just last week, and since then, I’ve been immersing myself back into my world of storytelling. From one writer to another, give it time. Write a few notes on a scrap of paper, something to get the creative juices flowing. All it takes is that one thing to set off the imagination, and it won’t be long before you’re finishing your novel.
Have a wonderful day, everyone! Eat, play, write to your heart’s content, and always believe in yourself.
Stay gay, my friends.
-Sara, aka The Dyke