Blocked But Not Beaten

Right now, a blinking cursor is doing its very best to drive me insane.

This cursor, constantly sitting at the very end of my thoughts, echoes inside my skull like the flashing “12:00” on my microwave, its only purpose to nag at me that I still have a good 450 words to write.

I’ve got writer’s block – Northern style.

This is a widening blankness big enough to swallow Teslin, wide enough to stride across Kluane Lake in a bound and weighs heavier on my brain than a Braeburn cinnamon bun.

As you can see, it’s pretty bad if that’s about as colloquially creative as it’s going to get.

And I’ve even been a diligent little writer this week. My hardcover notebook sits open in front of me, a mess of half-formed thoughts on paper. Scattered amidst the beginnings of jokes, sketch ideas and menial reminders, is a list of potential writing topics.

I’ve spent a good week running these ideas through my brain, only to have them unexpectedly smash into this metaphoric wall. I’ve had a slew of musings on the whole Swine Flu thing, most of them snarky and certainly not enough to fill an article.

I’ve wanted to say something about the evolution of the comedy scene in Canada and the Yukon, but I can’t properly track the thoughts I need. And I have a small notion, which is quickly gaining momentum, about how I secretly yearn to live in Dawson City.

Over and over again, this series of half-formed ideas gets stuck to the blackboard of my mind. A jumbled, garbled mess greets me with a wave every time I close my eyes.

I’m all for throwing ideas against this wall to see what sticks, but it may as well be made of Teflon for the amount of useful notions hitting its surface. Or, to be more specific, I’ve got a lot of starters, but nothing wants to get finished.

There’s not much point in having a mess of openers when there’s no punchline in sight.

I know this is a perfect opportunity to explore different avenues of thought. We all should be using these moments of vacuousness to try and come at things from a different angle. A change in perspective could be exactly what spurs the creativity forward.

Though sometimes you can’t help but be influenced by your outside environment.

I’ll admit I don’t know all that much about this climate-change thing, but if I have to walk to work in May, in another freaking blizzard, I’m going to burrow into the ground and come out when global warming is really cooking.

I’ll make a safe bet that my writing would improve significantly in a more tropical Canada. I’m more than willing to try it out, anyway.

In the meantime, pouring more java on my neurons seems like the best course of action. Looking alert is far more important than actually being so.

Just as reading an article about nothing is far easier than writing one.


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