Write a Scene With Me
Blocks, fear, and the shackles of perfection
Writer’s block is filled with paradoxes.
The thing that is causing me misery is its antidote. As time passes, the pressure increases for the next story to be great — to make up for lost time. As if ideas were percolating, creating a masterpiece in the background.
Even though I was binging K-Dramas on Netflix.
When I start typing, the sentences seem repulsive. I can’t recognize my voice, and none of it is remotely coherent. Like busted, tangled earphones.
There are only so many times one can go through the same experience.
Turning the irony in my favor, I decided to remove the compulsive need for publishing. Go back to writing as a practice, and maybe for the love of it.
A method that has been helping me for some time is scene writing. Ignoring expert advice and the voice in my head reminding me of how things should be, I give myself a goal of 150 words on a 30-minute timer.
I try to keep things as simple as I can, and wish myself luck.
Beginning.
At this moment, I don’t have anything concrete in mind, in terms of setting or action. One could aim for a surprise to draw the reader in. But I’m chasing the end — the relief it will bring. Ink splashed over a blank page.
I often start with dialogue/monologue. It creates a sense of mystery, and each word has the potential to reveal a speck more about what’s going on.
It also gives me a sense of the character, like I’m molding one out of clay.
“This time last year, I was in a better place.”
“Are you sure, or do you simply feel that way?”
I was tempted to pluck at her perfect tan couch. Move through it slowly, layer by layer, until nothing’s left inside. Its exposed bits can never be put back together.
Middle.
Now, I’m faced with some interesting choices. The good part is that I’m limited by the beginning, but I can still swing the story in any direction.
Including movement is a safe bet, picking up the pace of narration.
A favored thread is burrowing inside their mind. My imagination is on overdrive thinking of what a person would do when they’re impossibly stuck. Like I was earlier today. Some of that is also blended into the palette.
“I’m sure. I don’t delude myself on my progress.”
It’s been 132 days, and I’ve recorded each passing shadow.
They took away my autonomy, personal belongings, and internet access. However, a loophole in the contract allowed me some basic writing instruments.
I spit my pills and start sketching a map.
Ending.
If I was alone in this venture, I’d give up. After a point, you get used to the disappointment. But, I’ve started to feel things for my character/s, and they deserve closure. A point in the stretching horizon that feels good enough.
There’s also a bitter feeling setting in because I don’t want it to be over.
Compromising between my contrasting emotions, I pick something that feels like an end but also leaves room for diverging paths. A place to return.
Sundays are family days. Mine stopped visiting three weeks in.
They have fewer people on the floor, most congregating around the break room for cake. The floor smells of pine and a record player sits on the shock table.
I’ve chosen a double window near the second floor’s fire exit.
Sometimes the process recharges me, and I start writing a story in the next hour, with the intention of taking it out of my draft folder. On others, it takes longer to focus, but I always feel more relaxed — ready to try again.
A handful of times, the scene has expanded into a longer fiction story. I remind myself that it’s not my aim, but rather a desirable consequence.
Most stay put — in a folder on my Google Drive.
Where once unfinished drafts reminded me of failure and frayed beginnings, these seem like check marks. The days I conquered the block.
I’ve experimented with longer formats and introduced more rules. Expanding the setting, better action, evocative visual imagery, and even an unexpected climax. All of them defeated the purpose of this exercise.
The beginning is jittery, the middle a filler, and the ending is what it is.
After the end? Pure ecstasy.