CREATIVE DRIVE

The newsletter about writing and all things creative

NUMBER 32

Watch your most cherished myth explode right here on your screen!

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YOU KNOW the phrase "writer's block." Creatives of all sorts absolutely hate it. They hurl hate mail at it. They have nightmares about it. They bother their spouses (and others) with tiresome tales of what writer's block has made them do.

"Hey, babe. Just so you know, I ate the whole damned box of Fudge Taco-Shell Crunch this afternoon. Well, sit down and I'll tell you. It's not to be believed, babe, but here goes . . . ."

Babe thinks, "Oh, God. He's going to tell me about his writer's block again, and it's probably the fourth time this week. Get over it, Jake, and put something on the screen. You can eat all the cereal you want, but leave me out of your writer's-block situation."

Is writer's block universal? No. Writer's block is not a problem for every single creative person. I'll explain it in today's newsletter.

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"Writer's block" is a contrivance; a term coined long ago by the wannabe novelist H. Milford Marshmallow. Mr. Marshmallow, always the slacker, had promised his wife Fredna Faye a poem of love for the harvest festival. He'd said it would be the poem to end all poems, festooned with verbiage bestowed from the heavens and guaranteed to make dear Lady Fred' feel that she, of all the world's sweethearts, was the sweetest and most loved.

What a setup that was! It was so overladen with the promise of greatness that poor "H-bee," as Lady Fred' called him, had no chance of fulfilling it. "Damn," he said as he leaned over his writing desk with ink-soaked quill in hand. "Oh, blast it! What have I done!? 'Tis the eve of the harvest festival, but I've nothing but my name committed to the parchment! Should I borrow . . . should I steal outright . . . a few precious words, like apples from a tree, and arrange them as flowers upon the page, there to enwrap the heart of dearest Fredna Faye whilst the birds of the air bring to me the conjunctions, grammar and other contrivances of prose with which to complete my sonnet? What to do, what to do? I have such a block; such a damnable writer's block!"

Mr. Marshmallow was, as you can see, locked into a cell with only his feverish mind for company. The poor fellow saw the walls and bars but nothing else. He didn't even notice that the key to the cell was still in the lock on the other side of the door.

Modern-day pop psychology–the kind we offer in paperback form to friends–is rife with sayings that are strangely appropriate to this conundrum:

"Own your problem," says one.

"Life is what you make of it," says another.

"When life gives you lemons, suck them hard and fast," says another. (That book doesn't seem to sell too well.)

"No problem is too big that a white rhino couldn't trample the hell out of it." (I like this one. It'd make a good poster for the office wall.)

Let's take the first happy little saying and examine it for a minute. First, we say "yes" to the general advice. If you drop a salad bowl and it shatters across the kitchen floor, you'll have to find every tiny piece of it. Second is the fact that some problems are ours alone. We needn't call out to Ken or Wally over the back fence and say, "Jeepers! I've just broken a glass bowl in the kitchen! What should I do!?" Ken would answer thus if he weren't such a nice neighbor: "Well, you'll just have to take off your diaper and use it to pick up the sharper bits."

The term "writer's block," however, implies that the block "belongs" to the writer. "I 'have' writer's block." Can we view it from the other direction and say it holds true? "Writer's block has me tight within its clutches." Obviously, that doesn't work. So, writer's block is something you, the writer, possess.

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"It's easy for you to say, Professor Smartass, but I get writer's block each and every time."

You poor baby. It's better to keep the diaper on and stay in your cell. I'll tell you what: The key will be in the lock here at the door, okay? When you want to come out and join the grownups, reach for that key and turn it. Okay? Good boy.

Any process can be challenging, but difficulty alone isn't indicative of a block. I write and edit for a living, but I also compose music. Many of my themes are created and memorized before I start working at the computer, but that isn't always the way it goes. I've started some pieces with ideas I didn't like initially. The rhythm might've been odd or the melody was vapid. Maybe the bass part rumbled instead of being sonorous. If this happened five times–and that's a safe estimate–I overcame it fairly soon on four occasions. The fifth time I was deeply tempted to trash the idea and erase it from my system.

It's a funny thing about creativity, though: Even an idea we don't love can nag like crazy. It can keep us up at night, like a melody that won't go away. When I remember that it's just an idea, I feel better about moving forward. The key to completion is the fact that, in music production, the notes and dynamics can be changed. If I'm not particularly moved by something, I'll do the moving instead. My goal is to fall in love with the music but not simply to complete it. So, I enjoy the process despite the hard work it can entail.

A Goal Is Fine, But So Is a Reason

The first of my sisters had a very clever boyfriend named Herb, and this guy said he once won a contest that was advertised on the back of a cereal box: "Tell us in 30 words or less why you like our brand of cornflakes. You could be one of 10 lucky winners who will each receive a football!" So, young Herb popped the following answer into an envelope and dropped it into the mailbox:

"I like your brand of cornflakes because I want to win a football."

Well, it worked, and Herb won the prize. That, my friends, is completion. He answered a question simply for the purpose of winning a football. Now, let's return to the father of writer's block and see if the same will work in his poetry challenge:

Fredna my dear, Fredna Faye darling,

I promised a poem but instead sit here bawling

The fest is a-morrow, but I slouch here in sorrow

I'll have only this verse when the morn comes a-calling.

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It doesn't make for an automatic process, but H-bee doesn't know why. It's simple, though. He's focused on the task but not on the process. It's as if he sees three acres of lawn but has only a push mower. Unless he sets forth with a test of the first row–and finds that the blades are new and sharp–he'll have nothing but a burdensome task. If he'd just realize that he's already made a fine start, he'll soon knock out a second verse. Then he can see whatever is wrong with the first verse and correct it. Bingo! He'll be on his way to immortality!

"Listen, you keep saying how easy things can be. Tell me how it's done!"

The process I use to compose is similar to the one I use to write. I can make all the copies and versions I want to make. I can model those versions, changing things note by note or word by word until I find the version that says at least something back to me. It works, but it's a relatively long route. It's better to stick with the draft; to spot weaknesses early but not to identify them as personal problems. Look at your ideas objectively. An idea that's functionally dead won't say anything. You could caress that idea and attempt to resuscitate it, but dead is just that. Very few ideas, however, are really dead. So, with most ideas you can try different things and get them to sing or speak. After all, did the old toymaker Geppetto send his little puppet boy Pinocchio into the world with a suitable outfit? Yes, he did. Did he also equip him with shoes and a cap? Of course he did. The toymaker was free to try this hat and that, too. He could have tested Pinocchio in jeans and pointed-tip leather shoes. He could've tried sparkly trousers, a velvet jacket, high-top sneakers and gold chains. Every option was available, but ultimately he chose what was best. That will be the case with you too.

The key to satisfactory completion is to realize that any spiky aspect of a sentence, paragraph, quotation or storyline can be changed. Any word that doesn't properly enforce the structure of your sentence or statement can be altered or jettisoned. It may be a perfectly good word, but it can be awful if it's crammed into the wrong spot. So, get rid of it. Seize every opportunity to imbue your work with:

-?????? Logic: The only way your reader or listener will understand your message

-?????? Fluency: The way the language sounds when spoken in a native manner

-?????? Memorability: The rhythm, rhyme, consonance and musicality of your words

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Be Happy that You Tried

If you lose sleep over your creative effort, it's for one of two reasons: You either like it or you don't. Just keep going. Remember, though, that perfection is relative, but absolute perfection is impossible. Keep working–view what you sculpt from every perspective–and your best work will be within reach.

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A QUICK EXERCISE

Mr. Marshmallow needs a poem for Fredna Faye, and he needs it as soon as possible. The problem is, he was distracted by his previous attempt at greatness–a cabbage yo-yo–and didn't focus on the present task. So, please write something epic for him and his beloved Lady Fred'. I'll give you some choice words for color:

Morning, dawn, sunlight, autumn, breeze, over, across, again, around, before, sunset, forever, beauty, eyes, gaze, time, travel, journey, hound

Go ahead and give it a try. Take all the space you need, and have fun! I'll see you next time.

THANK YOU for reading Creative Drive. You'll find expanded versions of earlier issues here:

https://blueworldeditors.substack.com/the_lone_writer/

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? Copyright 2024 by Lawrence Payne. No part of this publication may be translated, reproduced or distributed without permission from the author.

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