Writer's Block

Writer's block afflicts most writers at one time or another. While I do not have the universal cure for this affliction (no snake oil being sold here) I do have a story to tell about how at least in one case I overcame it and how this experience has shaped my response whenever the dreaded condition strikes. The piece of writing below is from the Sunday New Straits Times, Learning Curve Section, February 10, 2013, p.5. 

Walking off writer's block

'WRITER'S block is a condition many authors have experienced. When this accursed state comes upon us writers, our responses are many and varied. Some quickly go to Google and look up presumed "cures", others become somewhat despondent and melancholy, and a few begin to doubt their ability to write in the first place.

There are many ways that people respond to this condition and many readers will be able to reflect on the way writer's block has affected them or their friends. I recall during the writing of my doctorate for a period of about three months when I simply could not put pen to paper. I spent days staring at my notes and the computer screen, and sometimes found myself expecting words to appear as if by magic. "Stare long enough", I found myself thinking, "and something will happen!"

All that happened was that I got increasingly frustrated and anxious. What did I do? How did I address this situation? At first, I thought I ought to read. Perhaps by reading, I could trigger something that would help me. What happened? Horror upon horrors, I found I was utterly disinterested in reading the papers and chapters I had to peruse for my thesis. I appeared to be suffering not only from writer's block but also from "reader's block"! I had no idea if such a condition actually existed but for me it appeared as if it did. So now that I could neither write nor read, I really found myself in a pickle. As a doctoral student, my "job" was to read and write and here I was unable to do either.

What did I do? What could I do? I recall the morning I confronted the fact that I simply had run out of steam and that staring at books and computer screens was becoming increasingly tedious. So one morning I decided to do what I have always enjoyed doing. I went out for a walk. I walked for kilometers. As a student, I had little money so I was lucky enough to have enough for a coffee and could always retreat home to make myself a sandwich. I remember going for numerous walks and eventually, in addition to enjoying my coffee stops along the way, I found myself visiting all the old second-hand bookshops that dot the suburbs near where I lived.

The walks themselves were fascinating. You get to observe a lot of things on walks. You see many types of people, various styles of homes and buildings, and you get quite a different view of your surroundings than if you were stuck in a car too and from wherever you are going. I found myself reflecting on my observations and looking forward to the bookshops I would visit. If I was lucky, I might find a reasonably priced second-hand book but mostly I would spend hours walking, book browsing and watching the world. As I browsed through the books, I found myself doing something I thought I had forgotten. I was reading! Sometimes I found myself reading the newspaper or magazine at the coffee shop. Other times, I found myself reading interesting posters plastered on the walls as I walked past. I would open a book in the bookshops, sit down and read a section of it, or a few pages.

I still remember how much I enjoyed this. Sitting down in some musty old bookshop reading this and that which took my fancy. In fact, one day I decided to take a little notebook and pen with me. I put them in my pocket and whenever I found a book of some interest, I would write down its title and keep a note. Often I would forget to do this, but the point was that I felt the need to do this.

I recall walking here and walking there. I remember the simple pleasure of reading the newspaper at the coffee shop, the surprise at finding some old long forgotten tome in a corner second-hand bookshop. I had found again the "joy" of reading. There was an excitement of discovery and I found myself thinking, "I really ought to write something about this book or that idea!" I felt the need to write and I had rediscovered why I was doing my postgraduate studies in the first place. I rediscovered the intrinsic love of reading, thrill of new ideas and I began to get that desire to write. What I also realized was that during my writing and reading block, I had lost that sense of enthusiasm.

I had lost that passion to read, the desire and exhilaration of writing. It had all become tedious. As soon as I re-energized myself and reconnected to those deep passions which had at first inspired me to study, I found that my writer's and reader's blocks evaporated. I went back to my room, and began to write. I opened my books and could feel once again the excitement of reading. It was this enthusiasm, this reconnecting to the deep motivations that I had temporarily lost that led me to successfully complete my doctoral studies. I remembered and felt again the joy of reading and discovery, and the feeling of achievement in being able to craft sentences and put down in words what was ruminating in my mind.

Whenever I feel utterly at a loss to write or a sense of tediousness at it, I will go for a walk, and I often find myself calling up that time during my postgraduate course when I could neither write nor read. I remember what it is about reading and writing that gives me happiness and I thank the Almighty that he has seen it fit to allow me a job in which I can continue to experience that excitement.'