My teenage daughter, laptop propped on her legs, sighed. Deeply, loudly.
I knew that sigh.
“I just don’t know what to write. I keep looking at this blank page. Uuuuuuugh. You’re so lucky you’re a writer. This never happens to you.”
I quickly pointed out just how wrong she was, that just because writing is my job doesn’t mean that I’m not routinely crippled by writer’s block.
It’s the absolute worst. Brainstipation. Words are stuck, thoughts are stuck, everything is just plain stuck, stuck, stuck.
You try and loosen things up with laxatives like caffeine and sugar, and if you’re lucky, the sentences tumble out. It’s the best kind of diarrhea.
When the words flow, it’s the greatest feeling. Well, the next-to-greatest feeling, I suppose, because nothing tops the feeling of being done — and loving what you wrote.