Wake up and smell the publish button.

I Thought Writer’s Block Was A Myth

Then I spent a year frozen in front of the blank screen.

I used to laugh when people claimed to be stuck with “writer’s block” because it seemed like a lame excuse for an extended vacation. In fact, I was ruthless with my perspective. A good friend confided in me that she was having problems producing any content. When she explained how difficult it had become to write I rolled my eyes and unfairly assumed that it was imaginary or badly acted. I actually said she should “snap out of it” and “quit being lazy and just write something.” I did not know how harsh my words were because I was still blissfully cranking out meaningful work with ease. I thought writer’s block was a myth.

I used to laugh when people claimed to be stuck with “writer’s block” because it seemed like a lame excuse for an extended vacation.

Then, without warning, it happened to me. I haven’t finished a post to a satisfactory level for over a year.

Writer’s Block Is Not A Myth.

Perhaps they meant to call it writer’s blocks, plural. Yes. Blocks. That makes sense now. It feels like my fingertips are made of little cement blocks when I sit to write. No matter how much momentum I start with lately, by the end of a few keystrokes my hands and my brain are done. It is a struggle. I have tried various levels of negotiation with myself to a pitiful degree. For example, I might yell encouraging words to my fingers as if it is an aerobics class or a gym competition.

“Come on fingers. You can do it. Type! Two-three-four! Write-two-three-four! Come on LORI that's only 23 words! YOU GOTTA KEEP GOING! DO NOT STOP TYPING NOW!”

My fingers just don’t appreciate all my efforts. Even worse — my hands have become defiant. More than once I sat and stared down at the qwerty keys. I cursed my phalanges for their adamant refusal to press down on the letters. “Type! Do what you are supposed to do! What kinda fingers are you if you won’t type?”

But since my ten typers are sealed in cement blocks, none of my encouragement attempts led to anything publishable. No matter how great of a cheerleader I am, when I am stuck I am SUPER stuck. Blocked in. Or maybe the good stuff is just blocked out. I am baffled by the void that used to be my writing career so it is time to talk about why this happened.

I am baffled by the void that used to be my writing career so it is time to talk about why this happened.

Why Did I Get Writer’s Block?

Why did I stop writing completely? Was I uninspired? Scared? I was unable to make educated material on the topics people found most important. My work was never bad. But for a while, it felt like anything I published fell to the sidelines with much more alarming replacement reads.

Laughter Was Silenced By Global Fear And Anger

Humanity is reteaching itself to walk when the world took off running.

My blank screen has been a daunting reminder that readers and writers have shifted their focus from opinions and uplifting thought pieces to more controversial subjects.

• Racism.
• Failing Law.
• The Gender Debate.
• Systemic Division of people based on superficial elements.
• Media manipulation.
• Panic about Covid-19.
• Conspiracies about all of the above.
• Politicians scrutinized for inexcusable behaviors and choices.
• Abuse of the worst type by trusted authorities.
• Acts of War.
• Cryptocurrency has been demonized as a tool to scare people (Ironic because cryptocurrency is the one way to truly be in control of your own wealth).

People gravitate toward negative headlines in times of fear.

People have wanted to debate racism and privilege. People were convinced by their own elected government officials to “follow the (sponsored) science’’ by accepting a vaccination for COVID-19. Acts of war have occurred while the world watches helplessly. With all of these grave topics, my type of quirky satire seemed out of sync with what people needed and wanted. Giggling during times of suffering is what airheads do. So this is what caused me to get quiet and stare and the blank void on my laptop every day for over a year.

I Wanted To Let More Qualified Voices Speak.

I didn’t want to be rude. I didn’t have the wisdom needed to be useful in a positive way at that time. I didn’t want to be wrong. I didn’t want to be profiled as an insensitive Karen. I was scared too.

Standing in a crowd of people I had become irrelevant. I could not justify comic angles for a while there. Who was I to insist that people read humor or satire when every feed was filled with angry accusations on the painful subject of racism, the global obsession with Covid-19, or conspiracy theories.

With a worldwide shift from a receptive audience to a more discouraged and untrusting bunch, I found it increasingly difficult to create meaningful words that would connect to someone. Anyone. Without connecting to readers my writing is wasted space on a screen.

Let’s face it after George Floyyd’s unjust murder nobody wanted to hear a white girl blabbing about racial injustice. Even at my most vulnerable and sincere moments in these recent times. I needed to let experts be experts. The voices that needed to be heard were the ones who were victimized or those who overcame injustices.

Just because I feel strongly about something does not mean I need to be heard on the matter. Does a child with a bandaid on their skinned knee have the needed experience and skill to operate on a knee cap replacement? No. A skinned knee hurts a lot but … that's not front-page stuff. I just needed to pay attention and listen and read others’ works before I could bring anything to the table worth a damn.

Normally I enjoy creating funny and fresh works on topics like cryptocurrency, lifestyles, sex, shopping, current events, fashion, faith, and the list could continue endlessly.

The last year has been salted with critical life-changers, and people are still feeling it everywhere in the world. Current events in the news are consistently alarming and fraught with manipulative political undertones. From scary sicknesses to inflammatory media gimmicks, the type of content I was producing felt frivolous. Apparently — all of the circumstances combined were the only way I would ever understand the true meaning of writer’s block. Now that I have identified the reason I was blocked, I thought it would be the best subject for a reintroduction of myself and my work amongst the great people here in the Medium space. This is the one. This piece is publishable. And just like that, I am back. Thank you for reading this piece.

Here is a rhyme about racism that will give anyone a shiver: