Stuck

Write about what you see. Write about your oldest memories. Write about your grandmother’s hands. Write about the ocean.

Begin a sentence with, “I remember…” Flip through a favorite book and pull out a line that grabs you. Steal a line from a favorite poem. Dig through your journals for inspiration.

Make a list of the “stepping stones” of your life. Write about a random object. Re-tell a vivid dream. Just write.

The advice pours in. The inspirations fly. The ideas circle about like a whirlwind above my head. But I’m stuck. It is Monday night, 8pm. I have to find something to read to my writing group tomorrow. I’d love it if I could read something fresh, something brilliant, something creative and powerful and wonderful. Something that would leave them speechless, with chills or tears or an overwhelming sense of envy for my gift. But I’m stuck. Nothing is coming. Nothing brilliant or fresh or powerful, that is. Only this.

Write about why you think you are stuck. Write about getting un-stuck. Write about a time when you wish you could be stuck. Was there ever such a time? Or forget about being stuck all together and just write, damn it. Put pen to page, scribble a few lines and let go. It will come. And if it doesn’t? Try again later. But I can’t. Aren’t you listening? I have to find something to read to my group tomorrow. I don’t want to read them shit. I know, I know, we all write shit sometimes, but I don’t want them to know that I do. I don’t want to show them this babbling mess of self-doubt, questioning and arguing with myself. What would they think of me?

Don’t worry about spelling, punctuation, grammar – or the critics (internal or external). Just write. Open the notebook and go. Let it flow. Time yourself – 10 minutes, 15 minutes, whatever it takes. Keep your hand moving. Don’t stop. Don’t edit. Don’t cross out. Just write. Just write what? Write about my Saturday of running errands and hanging out with friends and watching a movie? Write about my lazy Sunday where I accomplished nothing except spending quality time with my boyfriend? Write about the dog waking us up at 3am and scaring us half to death? Write about the long drive to Lawrenceburg and tutoring today? Blah, blah, blah. No one wants to hear about that, not even me and I am living it.

Make a list of things you love. Make a list of things you hate. List your dreams, your worries, your childhood memories. List the things you want to do in the next year or the things you want to do in your lifetime. List the simple things that make you smile. Or your favorite songs. List anything, as long as it gets the pen moving. Just write. Oh, my goodness…will this ever end? I know all the writing prompts. I have been reading about writing and studying writing and living writing for years. And yet, right now, today, this moment, I am stuck. I can’t write a list and even if I tried, I’d get bored or tired or uninspired. The list would seem flat and my memory would fail and my dreams would seem dim. I can’t do it right now, I’m stuck.

Well then don’t do it. No one says you have to. Maybe you’re just not ready right now. Maybe you’re just not inspired. Maybe the time is just not right. Maybe you need to wait a bit and find other things to feed your creativity. Maybe it is OK to be stuck.

Well, I don’t know what to say. I have never given myself permission to be stuck before. I have never said it was OK to NOT WRITE. Wow. What do I do instead?

I think I’ll go write in my journal.