a sorry tale of writer’s block in someone who doesn’t even call herself a writer
I’m a multi-tasking, multiple strands kind of a gal, so I have several blogs. Which is great because when la muse turns up I don’t have to say, ‘I can’t write about that, it’s not relevant’ because it is always relevant to something.
I've been writing from life for my own growth and development since 1995, and advocating writing as a direct route to personal change since 2003. I use this wonderful medium as a means of engaging with the world, of exploring, expressing and communicating my ethos. This means that if you're looking for someone to work alongside you as you push the boundaries and transform your life, you can get a real sense of who I am before you decide even to speak with me. What you read is what you get.
Just recently I’ve been having a problem stringing words together – written words, that is. I’ve no idea why. Perhaps it’s because I’ve been especially busy with website design and of course with coaching. Whatever the reason, I’m getting very frustrated.
I know, I KNOW that when I read stuff I write stuff. Or should I say, when I read certain stuff, I write. Texts that have historically got me going are the likes of Natalie Goldberg's Writing Down the Bones
, or the exceptional Healing without Freud or Prozac by Dr David Servan-Schreiber (not remotely hippy-dippy, based on legit scientific research and STUNNING!, read it immediately if you haven't already). A few words, a concept, trigger a thought process and bob’s your uncle, I start scribbling away. Or, rather, I used to!
Recently, even though I’ve been reading for England and thinking all the while, ‘brace yourself, Jan, beams of shining clarity are coming your way’ all I’m getting are rolling waves of fog.
A plan is undoubtedly needed, but one simply won’t come. Here’s what I’ve tried
- Angsting a little each day about how I really ought to write something. (Not helpful at all. Don’t try it.)
- Starting something and then realising that the point I was trying to make was completely spurious. (At least I was starting something...)
- For a while I decided to take my eye off the ball. Allow the processes to happen, trust that my writing mojo was just having some time out and would return. (Nada.)
And like I said, I read therefore I write, SO:
- I’m increasingly interested in memoir writing, partly for myself, my children and grandson, but also as a tool for working with coaching clients. I’ve always loved autobiographies. You’d think I might have noticed that these are, in fact memoirs! Fortunately that particular light bulb clicked on very recently and I now have permission to voraciously read about other people’s lives. Currently it’s Dawn French’s wonderful letters, and I have Julie Walters queuing up. (Zilch output from Ms Scott though, eh?)
- I’m also pursuing a personal interest in the increase in gender stereotyping of toys which is leading me back into the world of academic writing (or rather, reading it) and that’s something I’m pleased about. (Top marks for effort here. Bugger all writing though!)
- Then again, I’m fascinated by the art of writing and though it is a relatively late time to be coming to this I am starting to read about it and about its use in therapeutic ways. (Healer, heal thy-bloomin’-self, say I.)
So, plenty of stimulus to write, you’d think! Harrummpphhh!
I LOVE to write. I find I can express my thoughts well. I have a good system. Mostly I write a draft and then return to it once or twice before letting out into the world as a blog posting or an article. I like the 'return to it' phase best. So, if I'm not getting the draft written in the first place I soon run out of things to return TO.
You’re probably thinking, ‘but you’ve written this, Jan, what are you worrying about.’ Let me tell you that this is a drawing together of three or four separate drafts, which I’ve been pushing around my plate for over a month. And that’s it now, I’ve run out of drafts!