Some days it feels as if I have a set amount of words in me. Once I hit that random number, a great wall descends and nothing can pass through. I’m done. I’m all out. Utterly blocked.
That was the case last night. I had a lovely dinner with the young gentleman (fresh-caught local flathead, crumbed with chips and salad), headed home, cracked my knuckles and sat down to write…
And nothing happened. No matter how long I stared at that blinking fucking cursor, nothing came. “Nine days, you only have nine days to get this all done, you have to hurry! Write, damn you,” my brain screamed, which just made things worse.
In the end I sad-ate a crapload of vanilla gelato and collapsed into bed at around eleven, furious and exhausted.
This morning when I woke up, I had a new idea where to take the story.
So maybe that giant wall that barricaded all my words in was for a purpose. Maybe I had something shifting around in the convoluted tangles of my brain that needed a bit of time to wriggle free of all the junk in there. And to save me heading off in the wrong direction, my subconscious said, ‘No more. Binge on Italian ice-cream. Watch Elementary in bed while snuggling the cat. Sleep. I got this.’
By morning, I’d broken through and things were flowing again. I guess sometimes, you just need to stop fighting and go with it.
Ever had a bad block resolve itself like this? Tell me all about it below.