I’m writing an article on not being able to write an article or have anything to write an article about, also known as Writers Block.
I seem to suffer this more often than most and occasionally wonder whether it’s because I’m not meant to be a writer/I am lazy or just not very good. It’s both frustrating and infuriating with the screen up, coffee in your hand and cat by your side (after you’ve told her off several times for walking over the laptop keys; efwifheidsnoal;m231sq would have been her post). I see many writers and young journos posting weekly on to this site or bloggers I’ve made friends with over the years writing every bloody day. Where do I go wrong and where the hell has my motivation gone?
Young Rebecca George was the biggest bookworm known to man, she loved the classics as much as she loved reading Fireman Sam goes to the shop and buys a pint of milk and other stuff. One of her firm favourites as she entered her pre-teens was The Lord of the Rings and Harry Potter novels but writing fantasy was never for her. She loved romance and humor and looked upon childrens author Jacqueline Wilson for inspiration. She took old school books and would write novel up on novel with the occasional bit of poetry slung in, she relished in it. Writing was her escape. She would be top of her class in English and in Drama, her creative energy was the confidence boost she needed. She took drama classes, she was the lead in a few plays at school and locally, she had found something she enjoyed. From her ‘acting’ she struck up a love of film and TV and her writing took a turn in this direction.
(I’ll stop writing in third person now, I feel pretentious). Somewhere I have a suitcase full of sitcom pilots I’ve written, film ideas, scripts and collages. I’d even write love stories for my friends and their crushes, less said about that the better though. I now see my life in my twenties I wonder if I am massively missing out. Was I ever any good? Or was it just a hobby I enjoyed as a child. One of my flaws is that, despite being an optimist, I am critical of myself. I feel I can’t just stroll into an acting class now, almost ten years later but then I do find myself missing it. A lot. I miss writing novels. I miss creating scrapbooks with ideas, crap and some great stuff. I work full time and I think I use that as an excuse.
I started blogging about four years ago and got a great response and readership and that re-ignited my passion. I even started a promotional/reviews segment in which I promoted and reviewed, dur, local and independent businesses and met great people from this. I have so many ideas. I would love nothing more than to see my book on the shelf on Waterstone’s best sellers, to see my name above an article in a magazine, heck, I’d love to be the editor and founder of my OWN magazine. Nothing is stopping me but myself and I need slap across my freckled youthful face and/or kick up my English bottom. My friends are constantly nagging me to get back into it, both the acting and the writing. I haven’t given up on my dream just yet. It’s in me and it’s only up to me to sort it out.
It’s possible to be both ambitious and doubtful. Just don’t be afraid to relish in writers blocks though, sometimes it’s the break you need to work out which direction it is you want to head.