A serious case of writer’s block feels like a thousand years made of Monday mornings, to top things off, there is a pounding hangover and your head is held in an invisible vice-grip of migraines so painful they’ll have you wishing you can unscrew your head. Where was I? Oh! Writer’s block! I have not met or heard of a wealthy writer, they are well off not stinking rich. You see, writing is one of the most expensive past times the world over. You may ask if there is anything hard about taking a notepad, and scribbling the hell out of blank pages.
In a perfect world thats how some writers churn out books. But we live in a messed up world, unless you are a Mills&Boon writer then things are a bit gloomy for you.
Suppose you manange to clinch a good publishing deal, and your book is flying of the shelves. On a side note whoever decided that hot cakes sells doesn’t live where I live. Okay. Lets say in the dead of the night you dream about a perfect plot for a sequel, writer’s block being the bitch it is you’ll feel like going to the south of France to tie the loose ends. You rent an apartment somewhere in a far corner of the world, only to realise that you have nothing to write about. Spending weeks on end staring at computer screens, drinking in shady bars to get ideas. Before you can say JRR Tolkiens your earnings are gone and the publishers are hounding you with phone calls and e-mails, manuscripts have to be delivered. There is only one problem, there are no manuscripts in sight. Zilch! Nada! Writer’s block hit you so hard you can’t even string a sentence along.
Ps: I got this idea of writing about writer’s block, when I was brainstorming with some writer friend of mine. I had a dilemma, I have two drafts of writings; clitoris and heartbreak but I didn’t feel like posting them. If you want me to, let me know. But remember this, if they suck, you ask for it.