 "The word, block, suggests that you are stuck, when the truth is, you're empty" -- Anne Lamott, author of Bird By Bird: Some Instructions on Writing and Life
I read this quote a few weeks ago and I liked it. But tonight I got it. Due to early winter darkness and a 7am til 6:30pm workday, I didn’t walk or run my seawall. But I drove home through Stanley Park, parked at Lighthouse Park, and sat. Just sat. Although I haven’t worn a watch since I completed my Timex Rehab, I estimated about 15 minutes. I drove home and I’ve been sitting at my computer ever since. It is now 11:45pm. Blocked? You could say that. About as much as a … nope, I don’t even have a good analogy. Or is it a metaphor? I had wondered if sitting in silence in Stanley Park would be enough to inspire me to write. Well, I have my answer. No. Nope. Nada. Not even close. I have started and started and started and started. And deleted and deleted and deleted and deleted. I knew if I called it a night, I could always write two articles tomorrow, but I wanted to push myself through this writer's block. I had a deadline! And then I thought. I knew what I wanted to write the moment I sat down. I knew what I wanted to write at 9pm at 10pm and at 11pm. Why am I fighting this? Maybe I'm not blocked. Maybe I am just empty. And maybe being empty is good sometimes. In Woody Allen's, Midnight in Paris, the Ernest Hemingway character said, "writing is good if it's honest." So this is what I wanted to write because this is all I had to say: I sat in silence for 15 minutes in Stanley Park and it was lovely. The End. Photo by: bidrohi Comments are closed.
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