I am in a dilemma right now. I might be suffering from a dreaded disease that strikes even the most experienced writers in history, driving them in some instance in a state of panic, leaving overflowing ashtrays as a chilling reminder of the struggle.
I realized at this moment that I am not immune in suffering that same fate as my mind work hard digging up something appropriate to write. Words that could invoke reactions, and at its best might even inspire others. Sadly, despite repeated attempts in squeezing out some ideas, nothing seems to filter out of my mind. I just tested positive for WBS, the Writer's Block Syndrome.
What could have been the cause of my problem? Lack of sleep, money, or sex? I must admit I do have trouble satisfying one of those three - which one you could only surmise - but nevertheless I don't think it is enough to turn off the faucet of ideas from flowing. It still remains dry I suppose much like the one you guessed.
Staring at a blank wall meanwhile, deep in thought about nothing, the “Crash Test Dummies” hummed teasingly on the radio “Umm, Umm, umm, umm,” providing a relief to a dire situation. Trying to find ways in overcoming WBS is quite challenging. It is like dismantling the Berlin Wall at the height of the Soviet communist era. It is possible as we know now, but like what happened in history, a crack must first be exposed.
Perhaps thinking of other things besides writing could provide me some ideas. Plugging the old TV set could turn those things on. There could be some inspiring movies airing from our cable network that could provide the break. A respite that could tear down the wall that blocks the release of creative juices from my numbed mind, or at least allow it to trickle.
Coincidentally, I just remember a movie from yonder starring Chevy Chase as a relatively successful fiction story writer. He moved into the countryside to get a more serene and peaceful atmosphere conducive to writing. In this scene, he was about to start doing his book, picking just about the right spot for an ambiance that could spark ideas. The site, in front of his open window at the second floor room of an old style country house, was a breathtaking place. Overlooking a picture perfect view often seen on an inspired artist canvas. He took it.
Sitting comfortably in his chair with his typewriter at hand, savoring the fresh breeze nature could offer. Chevy took a lung-full before embarking on his quest creating hopefully another bestseller. He started flexing his fingers before tapping the key marking the first word his loyal fans would read in his new book. He was eager to start.
With his fingers poised to strike the first key, Chevy paused, three birds perched atop a tree near his window started chirping gaily, he smiled, listened, and went back to his own thoughts.
A short while later, again the birds chirped and the dog barked joining in a chorale as they sang a joyful nature hymn. Chevy his face showing some signs of annoyance smiled crudely. He stared at the empty piece of paper rolled on the typewriter. He had difficulty finding the right word to jump-start his book.
As if taunting the poor writer, the animal symphony continues. The bird chirped while the dog howled following the booming moos of the grazing cows. Nothing on his typewriter except a blank sheet of paper Chevy disturbed and distracted, had snapped. Slamming the heavy typewriter at the tree the poor birds could only manage a merciful squeak for an encore.
Hopefully it was a quick and painless demise.
In the meantime, here I am at the dead of night sitting in front of our dining table staring at my own piece of empty paper. My wife and kids are peacefully snoring their way into dreamland in nearby rooms, while the cherry trees outside the large glass window in front of me gloomily stood by.
Thankfully, no birds chirping just the intermittent whizzing of vehicles passing in an adjacent road to bug and keep me awake.
The night is getting closer into day and still nothing, I must admit this writer's block syndrome or whatever it is they call it got the better of me.
Anyhow, my wife would be getting up soon as she prepares for work. Seeing me like this would be a turn off. So I have to rest my weary mind and go to bed now. Perhaps something better awaits me there . . . I mean a very beautiful dream of course. That could be an inspiration.
