Writer's Block

The inspiring view from the Poudre River Trail

I'm having a terrible time getting back into my story today. I seem to have hit a wall of sorts, which comes as a surprise, considering how well things went last week.

I blame it all on John Steinbeck. I've been reading his book, "Journal of a Novel," which is a compilation of letters he wrote to his editor during the writing of "East of Eden." The book offers glimpses into Steinbeck's state of mind as he worked through his manuscript.

What I've learned is that in writing a book, there will be periods of progress followed by periods of stagnation. When his productivity slowed, Steinbeck was no different from me. He procrastinated. He doubted himself. His optimism waxed and waned, and he alternated between seeing the importance of his work and being frightened that he'd produced a valueless pile of.... um...paper.

Here are a few excerpts:

July 6, 1951

...I feel just worthless today. I have to drive myself. I have used every physical excuse not to work except fake illness. I have dawdled, gone to the toilet numerous times, had many glasses of water. Really childish. I know that one of the reasons is that I dread the next scene, dread it like hell...

October 22, 1951

So, we go into the last week and I may say I am very much frightened. I guess it would be hard to be otherwise - all of these months and years aimed in one direction and suddenly it is over and it seems that the thunder has produced a mouse.

Last week there was complete exhaustion and very near collapse. I guess to anyone who has not worked in this way it would be hard to conceive this kind of slow accumulated weariness. I don't know of any other work that requires month after month of emotional as well as intellectual concentration...

October 27, 1951

...Yesterday's work was no good. I had to throw it out. I made a bad mistake in saying when I would be finished and now I find myself trying to make it when I said I would. I'll have to stop that - stop it cold. This book is more important than the finish...

The way I see it, Steinbeck condones today's lack of productivity as an inevitable step in the writing process. I feel so liberated. So literary. But right now, I'd rather feel like a published novelist, which would require breaking through this block and putting down some paragraphs.

Usually when I'm stuck, I take a brisk walk along the river and get my thoughts in order. I use the break for multiple purposes, as this is also my opportunity to exercise and listen to music. I recently expanded my exercise regimen by picking up a pair of river rocks and using them as makeshift hand weights. Regulars on the trail must see me as half mad, shirt off and headphones clamped over my ears, swinging stones over my head and curling them back and forth as I power walk down the trail.

me and my stones

Sometimes I use the stones as potato-shaped drumsticks and play along with the music in my headphones. I get a lot of smiles when I do this. But this way, I'm sure to be in shape should Dave Matthews finally grow weary of Carter Beauford's playing and ring me up.

The rocks fit me so well that I've claimed them as my own. I keep them stashed behind a bush and retrieve them at the beginning of each walk.

But I've finished my walk now, and I'm back at my desk procrastinating by writing this blog entry.

That's it. No more posting. Time to work.