Nope. My writer’s block is now officially a wall. A solid barricade between my brain, and my fingers on the key board. You don’t want to know how long I’ve been staring at this screen (2 hours), watching the l-bar blip, and blip. It doesn’t blip to my heart beat of course. Nothing cool like that. It just blips. A gentle reminder that I haven’t written anything. Blip. Blip. Blip. I try and forget about it, distract myself with a book, bad tv, or yes, even Candy Crush, but when I come back it’s still there. My energizer l-bar, the little l-bar that could-not-stop taunting me with it’s endless blipping.
It’s relentless. Unlike my brain, it won’t stop working. It won’t stop until I start and even then it’s only a brief interlude before I begin to hem and haw again over what to write. And then it’s blipping dance begins once more. Write. Write. Write.
And so I write, just to make it stop, if only for a minute. First it’s just gibberish. Random letters thrown together simply for the sake of getting something down. Get a little crazy and toss some numbers in there. And the blipping stops. Only for as long as my little fingers can keep typing. The gibberish hurts my eyes and my ego so I begin to type words. I can see my writer’s wall. My l-bar blipping along the top of it, keeping vigil. Blip. Blip. Blip. But then my words come, and with every word there is a chip. Chip. Chip. Chip. The wall begins to break away. The l-bar drops with every chip. Words form sentences, and my wall is only a few feet high. Sentences form paragraphs and my wall is a pile of rubble. I am walking over my wall and not looking back. ‘Cuz I don’t give a blip.