The tough love guide to curing writer's block

Can you handle it?

It frustrates me when people say that writer's block doesn't exist. As if denying we have a problem will make the problem go away. When has that ever worked, for anything?

I can't speak for all writers, but for me, writer's block is totally a thing. A real, tangible force of resistance and sabotage. I'm embarrased to admit how many "cure your writer's block" books I've bought over the years. And how little they have managed to actually cure my writer's block. The approach that has worked for me has very little in common with popular advice. It contains no tricks or hacks or cool apps to try. It will seem counterintuitive, and even downright offensive to a lot of people.

I apologize in advance.

But if the regular advice hasn't worked for you yet, maybe it's time to try the counterintuitive thing. You might be pleasantly surprised by the results.

So here it is:

How to cure writer's block in 4 counterintuitive steps:

1. Realize you don't have to write.

It might seem obvious, but unless you're contractually obligated to deliver a first draft of something, or you're a copywriter at an ad agency and your boss has a gun to your head, you don't actually HAVE to write. Most of the time, you just feel like you should write.

Why do you feel that way?

Do you have some god-given responsibility of saving the world with your ideas? Do you need to prove your parents wrong? Do you feel like you need to "fulfill your potential" by becoming this great author person? Are you clinging to the idea of yourself as one who writes in a certain way, about a certain topic?

Be honest with yourself. Why do you really do it?

And what would happen if you didn't write? I'm willing to bet that the world would be just fine. We have plenty of other things to read.

You're not that special and important. And that thing you're tormenting yourself to squeeze out? We'll be okay without it. Some people might be offended by that thought. I find huge relief in it.

If you don't enjoy your writing, then why do it? No one's forcing you. You have my full permission to stop, and enjoy the rest your life.

2. Take pleasure in not writing

When my sister was little, she never wanted to go to bed at night. Every evening, the announcement of bedtime came as a painful shock to her. Every evening, she threw the same wild tantrum.

Writing can feel much the same way. Every day, we rebel against our self-imposed word quotas. We toss and turn in our seat, searching for excuses not to write. We walk in circles around our computer, lamenting our lack of inspiration, cursing the muse.

We're both the parent announcing bedtime AND the kid kicking and screaming in defiance.

What would happen if you allowed yourself the sweet release of not having to fight your writer's block every day? What if you, just for a day or three, dropped your constant resistance to the resistance (meta, huh?) and let it win. If you're not going to write then at least let yourself enjoy not writing. That's what you subconsciously crave: relief from writing. Relief from the tyrannical parent in you, enforcing word count goals and deadlines for some arbitrary reason like "writing is your calling, now write you sonofabitch, WRITE."

I've participated in NaNoWriMo five times. The part I always love the most is when I throw my hands up in defeat and walk away from my half-finished manuscript. It's an exquisite pleasure, not having to write. Let yourself enjoy that pleasure, without guilt. Because until you do, you'll just continue the cycle of self-loathing and self-sabotage.

3. Admit that you love the struggle

Why is writing hard for you? When you think about sitting down in front of that blank page, what do you fear is going to happen? Will you become paralyzed and just stare at the screen for two hours? Will you let out a stream-of-consciousness barrage of word crap so horrible, it's beyond salvaging?

Has this ever happened to you? Probably not.

If you're anything like me, writing only really feels hard before you do it. I avoid sitting down to write for as long as I can get away with. I make up reasons in my mind for why it's going to be hard: "I won't do this topic justice." "I don't know where to start." "I'm just not feeling it today." "I'm a tender, creative soul, not a machine. I need a break." Whereas I can trick myself into "just outlining" an essay, and before I know it, 1400 words of semi-decent prose have flowed out of me. And it felt disappointingly easy.

We want our creative work to feel hard. If it's easy, it can't possibly have any value. We'd feel like imposters dripping paint on a canvas and selling it for $10 000. Struggling is how we justify our worth. Perfectionism is how we keep a tight leash on ourselves, so we don't get hubris and become too prolific.

The first step towards recovery is admitting the honest truth: we (secretly) love our writer's block. We love that it's hard to write. We're scared of what would happen if it was easy.

4. Commit to being a mediocre writer

It doesn't matter how many times we hear it. We know the first draft of everything sucks, no matter how talented the author. But we still secretly expect a miracle. We still hope to be the exception to the rule, and hit the bulls-eye on our first attempt.

Throughout my entire adult life, I've expected nothing but greatness from myself. I had this image of myself as a "naturally talented" writer, and there was no room for mediocrity in that image. So I slaved away for days with low-paid writing assignments for prestigeous magazines, refusing to send it off if it wasn't perfect. Because god forbid that I come off as anything other than mindblowingly sharp and witty and "naturally talented." I secretly loathed those assignments, but I couldn't say no to them.

For me, writer's block really comes down to a deep fear of not living up to my high expecations. A deep fear of disappointing myself and others. A deep fear of mediocrity.

Maybe we need to face this monster we’re so afraid of. Flip the light switch and look it in the eye. The cure is not to keep running, it's to embrace mediocrity. To drastically lower our expectations. To stop trying so damn hard to impress.

I'm tired of trying to please people with my writing. I'm bored to tears by my chronic perfectionism.

I just want to write.

I want to write because I'm enjoying myself when I write. I enjoy stringing together sentences and finding unexpected metaphors. I enjoy ranting and telling stories. I enjoy making myself laugh or cry or become outraged. I enjoy exploring dark and taboo subjects without censoring myself. I find writing entertaining and stimulating and pleasureable.

And I'm not going to let my fear of other people's (and my own) judgement take this pleasure away from me.

I don't need my writing to be amazing and mind blowing and award-winning. I don't need it to make me money. I don't need it to do anything for anyone. Heck, I don't even think I WANT my writing to be "good" anymore. I'm willing to enjoy being mediocre. There's something beautifully innocent about that. About being an amateur. Humble beginnings and awkward failures and crude attempts at perfection. I find it adorable.

Can you do that too? Can you see the adorableness of your first drafts and ugly duckling stories that no one wants to buy or read? Can you allow yourself to take pride in your failures? To even throw yourself head-first into them? To type away with shameless pleasure, the most embarrassing draft to ever take up space on a harddrive.

What would you write if no one was ever going to read it? Write that thing.

How would you write if there was no one to please or impress? Write that way.

Write boring, long-winded, weird, taboo, nonsensical, offensive stuff, just for the hell of it. It's your god-given priviledge as a human being on this earth.

Or don't write at all. The world loves you just as you are, regardless of your word count.