Writer’s block is a bit like lying awake at three o’clock in the morning.
The drip-drip-drip from brain to word processor is irritating enough, like a leaky faucet, but to me the real torture is the helpless immobility. When I wake up in the middle of the night, my tried and true response is to do: absolutely nothing. I will lie there for hours, waiting to fall asleep, unwilling to turn on the light and read, because if I do, that will wake me up.
Writer’s block and insomnia have their own logic like that.
There’s a lot of good stuff in the pipeline, gentle reader. A disquisition on Afghanistan, a Game of Thrones-related rumination on historical theory, and a look at the post-Facebook world of online dating. It’s all there, in “draft” status on my WordPress dashboard. Some of you may have even heard that I am working on a PhD thesis. It’s true! But you wouldn’t know it from the current output. All of these beautiful ideas, backed up somewhere around the I-66/495 junction of my mind.
Do I regret moving from Edinburgh? I do not. But unlike Sherlock Holmes, I cannot create a “mind palace” at will. There was something to be said for having my desk and my books just so, despite the drafty apartment and crappy weather. Now I sit at the table in my new dining room, while my mind looks over my shoulder waiting to see what the next words on the screen will be.
Should I turn on the light?