“I’m so sorry, Linda, but no prescription or surgical procedure exists for writer’s block. You’re on your own.”
There is nothing more diabolical than this malicious curse that strikes the writer without even a rattlesnake’s warning. Everything’s going great: the characters are deep into the abysses we create for them; their fledgling love for each other can self-destruct with one more angry look, one more smart-mouthed response; the plot is thick, the climax is looming, and . . .
When I got stuck with a bull riding scene in Give the Lady a Ride, I popped in a PBR tape and played it in slow motion, hitting the pause and rewind until I almost wore the buttons out. I seared the images into my brain, translated them into words, and got them down on paper. When I couldn’t get into my characters, I played my Chris LeDoux CD until my cats could sing along. When my humor left me and romance was lost in a pile of laundry or dirty dishes, I’d watch movies: The Wedding Planner, How to Lose a Guy in Ten Days, It Could Happen to You. Worked every time. And, finally, when my poet muse balked at having to conceive cowboy poetry (the snob), I turned to Dave Watkins’ CD, Easy on the Ears, and wrote Talon’s perfect poem.
I combated writer’s block with an impressive arsenal–and won!
Now it’s time for revenge.
The ugly scourge has returned. It lurks in the back of my mind by day, shattering the precious moments of joy when I’m blissfully oblivious to it. It stalks and pounces. It distracts me from conversations; it intrudes my thoughts when I read; it invades my head when I watch TV, causing me to miss entire scenes, leaving me only with commercials. It laughs at me when I sleep–a deep, rumbling, mocking laughter that awakens me at two in the morning. Silly girl! You’re not allowed to sleep! You still don’t know how to write that scene!
C’mon, Bristol Meyers! Get moving, Janson Pharmaceuticals! Give me a cure I can apply directly to the forehead!
🙂 Whew, that was fun.
Truthfully, though, the best weapons against writer’s block are prayer and patience. I’ve got the former down pat, it’s the latter that’s killing me. Especially now, when I have a romantic scene that’s zooming in on me faster than a Doppler can register. One that can’t be too romantic; that has to be saturated with mixed emotions; that must be in place before I can insert the next scene.
Which I’ve already written. . .
. . . during my writer’s block.
Maybe I don’t have writer’s block. Maybe I have romance block.
Maybe I need a date with my husband.
Nah, that won’t work. He’s always too romantic. If there could possibly be such a thing.
But it does sound like fun . . .