I don’t want to jinx myself here, so hold on a second while I throw this industrial sized salt package over my shoulder…
… Phew, alright! I’ll clean up all that salt later.
So anyway, yes, the block that I mournfully discussed here is, I believe, gone. I don’t know if writing so pointedly about my block worked some kind of psychological voodoo on it, or if it was the redirection of my attitude, or the fact that I got myself back into a routine, but either way, I’m in a good place. Writing makes me happy again. 🙂
Part of what had blocked me so much was my own perfectionism. I felt pressured to “make it good.” Not to mention how taxing the book already was on me, with its daunting plot and other demands. I was working so hard that I forgot to enjoy myself.
I ring the bell for Sofia’s apartment, trying to imagine what could possibly be in store for me. On the phone she had used a scramble of incoherent phrases such as “self-actualization crisis” and “my inner flower has been frosted over by the tundra of creative impotence.” Or something like that.
“Olive! Thank god you’re here!” Sofia shrieks as soon as she opens the door. “Okay, here’s the problem. Do you remember how I’ve been feeling really anxious and frazzled lately?”
“Sure,” I say, stepping into her apartment. Sofia starts pacing.
“Well, I’ve been reading this self-help book because I can’t afford a therapist, not to mention those guys assault you when you’re hypnotized—I read about it—and anyway this book has described my life to a T. It’s as if the writer has been following me around, watching me in order to write this book.”
“Does he prefer the tree outside your window or does he leave nanny-cams in your bedroom?”
The lovely triSARAHtops has presented me the Versatile Blogger Award! Thank you Sarah! I’m not sure I’d call this blog versatile, since it’s mainly a bunch a’ writing about writing. But never one to turn down a chance for awkwardly long acceptance speeches, I humbly accept this award and would like to thank my mom, my boyfriend, my dog, that weirdo at the bus stop, this pen cap that I can’t find the pen to, your mom, also yo mama, sliced bread and all the best things that came after, my—oh they’re turning on the music now.