6 Suggestions for Overcoming Writer's Block6 Suggestions for Overcoming Writer's Block or Lack of InspirationMore Like This
A writer writes, always. But sometimes there is simply no motivation—our muse simply does not motivate us like it normally does, and we have to think of ways to cope with the situation so that our writing does not depend on fleeting emotions or feelings. Here are my top suggestions for overcoming “writer's block” and for continuing writing no matter what.
Suggestion 1: Remind yourself that writer's block does not exist.
Except for as an excuse not to write, writer's block does not exist. No matter how uninspired you feel, you can always put words on the page. And since writing a story is mostly in the later drafts anyways, you can always just write your way through a boring part and make it inspired later in the process. Just get words on the page, and move the story forward.
Suggestion 2: Write something else.
If the lack of inspiration is so bad as to be unbearable (as mine is right now, I've gotten
Letters from a strangerDearest,More Like This
put up a bird house near
the public bins,
gold finches have been
stealing breadcrumbs ever since.
Last tuesday the neighbours
upstairs, the doctors, you know
the ones; the flat that
smells like a corpse,
well they flooded the flat.
Frogs have moved in
and theres algae clawing
at the walls.
The ice cream truck doesn't
come down the road,
little Suzie climbed in
and went missing a month ago,
her body lay between
waters and strawberry sauce
in the Ruislip Lido, such a shame
Mum's brought hydrangeas,
pretty purple flowers,
she thinks they could brighten
the place up.
I think you'd like them
if it weren't for the
dead mouse we found
beneath the pot.
on remembering words of wisdom from a drunken auntIt was December and I’d been packaged and parcelled off to the city that never sleeps. My aunt and I talked a lot about cabbages and kings and how empires fall because man was too greedy. I was sprawled across a couch too small for my limbs, and I understood how goldilocks felt but then again maybe she should have just let her limbs hang off the edge instead and make it work. Anyway, my aunt had a glass of wine between her fingers, years of experience meant no matter how steep the incline of the glass, she’d never spill a drop. I lapped up the droplets from my wrist and her nose would wrinkle but the haze of drunkenness had settled between her shoulders so she was past caring. We spent days talking into the early hours of the morning and I would watch a building across the Hudson river glow all day and night, its incessant floors buzzing with light and it just really pissed me off. My aunt told me “wall street never sleeps, all those rich bankers, they do lines&More Like This
Another day late and one year olderHey allMore Like This
So i think i should start this off with a generic Happy New Year! ignore the fact that i am a couple of days late for the sake of my pride. So looking back on last year i realized i hadn't set any goals for myself because there'd been no point the future looked bleak and i really thought i wouldn't make it to 2014, i almost didn't. Last year, to put it bluntly was fucking horrible but i made it, and even if my, excuse me for lack of a better word "real life" was hell i found a reprieve in the people i’ve met on here and for that i am grateful. I really am. I’ve met some amazing people on here and you guys are amazing, like my own little support group hovering in a corner encouraging me when i couldn’t stand myself any longer. You all helped me to grow as a writer and a person and I’m really indebted to you all.
Last year I was in a bad place and things around me crumbled and I went from being an honor student to scraping an average over all with t
On reality and other fictitious thingsI chewed out a pieceMore Like This
Of the sky
Spit it back out, again.
Maybe I’d be better off
From my fingers
Wiping down your
Bed frame spine
And collapsing your easel
Joints like a puzzle.
I swallowed the
Rains sticky heat
Like a shot
And it burns
Just the same.
The tragedy of the mook and how it died one dayThe fickle sky pressesMore Like This
Against the glass of the windows
And the dry strung up heat of the winter sun
Spilled over the anemic asphalt
Our shadows seared into the bottom of our sneakers
Moving with a sort of blithe nonchalance
Searching for the speckled grey of a familiar horizon
The apathetic footsteps and my clenched hands
Quiver beneath the setting sun’s bloody smear
Across the over populated sky
That was no longer clear
Rather it was the looking glass phenomena
Spread eagled across my retinas
And during those grief stricken days spent
Hanging off your rooftops and skylines
I've contemplated replacing
my heart with another
Liver so I can
Drink more and care less
And I can vow that sleeping is only
For the dead or at least
The heavily medicated and sadly
I can no longer tell the difference between