For the night, a wall.

For several nights now I’ve sat in my computer chair and stared at the cursor blinking at me, begging me to write something; anything. I haven’t been able to. The second my fingers hit the keys and started to type I’d lose the thought I had. Flying out of my brain, went every single idea for a post.

“I better start writing these down,” I thought.

That didn’t work either. As soon as my pen touched a piece of foolscap, my mind decided to take a vacation down blank avenue. It’s completely frustrating and I wanted to scream. So I went to bed because I couldn’t do that in a house full of roommates. Not if I wanted to live long and prosper. I was on my way home from work tonight when I finally had a thought that stuck. I’d write about how frustrating it was to a post out. No one would care if it wasn’t long and involved. Most people would say, “TL; DR” anyway.

I haven’t felt this kind of writers’ block in years. Not since I was in college and facing a 650 word paper due that hour as a test. I must have thought of and discarded hundreds of topics before settling on one to write about and even then I had trouble phrasing it so that my Professor could follow along with my train of thought. I spent the rest of the hour left in a panic because I wasn’t used to being the one who got writers’ block. I was the one who helped others though it, helped them pick topics to break down that wall and use the bricks for a path. I learned the hard way that anyone can get lost when they’re staring at an empty page. That cursor blinking and their mind going a hundred miles an hour trying desperately to find something, anything, to grab and hang on to for a good ride.

I made it through the test, handed in a 650 word paper with everything I remembered about Michigan and my childhood there and only now do I look back and appreciate what that Professor really taught me. He taught me how I could turn in something horrendously bad with terrible punctuation and still get an A for effort because it was not the worst paper he had received. When he handed them back, he asked how many of us would be willing to be honest about having writers’ block by being put on the spot for that paper. I raised my hand. I was only one of three who would admit to such a thing.

My Professor nodded and said “Congratulations, I’ll see you next semester in my course for Reporting and Column writing. The rest of you, I’ll see you back in this class.”

I suppose having writers’ block and being honest are not the worst things to have or be in this world.


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