Sometimes you get writer’s block. Sometimes it lasts for an hour. Sometimes it
lasts for 3 years. Sometimes you try to force the issue, but even if you’re
lucky, that only brings a short burst of creativity which is impossible to
sustain. I have a pretty good idea of
what started that writer’s block, and why it lasted so long. Part of it is timing. My life is busy. (See also: exercise.) Part of it is energy. Other parts of my life
get the best parts of me. Part of it is
need, or lack thereof. I like writing (I’m enjoying this exercise right
now.) But I don’t need to write. Writing doesn’t put food on the table. Writing doesn’t affect other people’s
opinions of me. My life has moved past the point where it could be possible or
plausible for me to make a living as a writer.
It’s just a hobby. A hobby that I
am very good at.
Recently, it was suggested to be that I would be well served
to put the best part of me (or at least a half hour’s worth of the best part of
me) into something I like. So here we
are, dusting off the car, replacing the oil, turning over the ignition to see if,
at the very least, we can get the engine started. If that works, then I can drive it around the
block, and see if I still like the feel of it.
Maybe get it out on the highway, you know, just for old time’s
sake.
I want to see if the person I am now can write like the
person I used to be.
So what to write about, besides self-indulgent babbling
about the exercise of writing? Because
at this point, all I’ve produced with my half hour is a three hundred word
stall tactic. Fiction? No, too soon for that. I’m still rummaging through the kitchen
drawer looking for car the keys, and you’re asking me to go straight to the
Daytona 500. Write about what you know,
as most English teachers inevitably say.
Well, I know a lot about lawyering.
So I can write that. But I do
that every day, and that is not what this exercise is about. Write about what you love, which is what
every professor that I’ve loved has said to me.
That will narrow the field considerably.
Write about what you hate, which nobody has ever told
me, but come on, I'm only human. And that broadens the field
considerably.
What do I love? Well,
there are people I love, but I’m not going to write about them, because I don’t
know how to write about love, and knowing how to write about love is a pretty crucial part of
writing about people you love.
I love
football. I hate what football is
turning into. I love talking about
football. I hate sports talk radio. I love television. I hate almost everything that CBS
televises. Except for How I Met Your
Mother. I don’t hate that show. I do hate Ted Mosby.
I love movies. I hate
Michael Bay movies. I love books. I hate that I’m not smart enough to read
Infinite Jest. I love history. I hate that I’m the only one who does. I love podcasts. I hate the fact that I can’t listen to them
quickly enough and that the pile up of podcasts threatens to consume my Itunes, my hard drive, and possibly all available data storage in the world. I love to think about
religion. I hate the fact that talking
about it in any context, even a thoughtful, open-minded, inclusive context,
causes people to make unfair judgments about you.
So, here is my promise to you (if I post this) or to me (if I
don’t.) I will devote a half hour of the
best part of me to writing every single week.
I’ll start with one of the things I mentioned above, and go from
there. I can’t promise it will be funny,
or great, or good, or complete, or intelligible, or anything other than a waste of time for all of us. But it will be there, and even if no one else ever reads these, I will be having fun.
