Writer's Block

Whenever I find myself sitting before a blank page with pen poised and ready for employment, I remember the movie Throw Momma from the Train. In a scene from this farcical treatment of Hitchcock's Strangers on a Train, Billy Crystal sits at a typewriter attempting to paint the setting of his new book. As he tears nigh unmarked pages from his typewriter, Crystal reaches the precipice of madness, unable to move beyond "The night was..."

I often fair a little better than Crystal's character, composing at least three sentences before the invisible wall stealthily advances and sets itself firmly between the muse and I. Yet, once that third period appears on the page, I too am pacing, tearing, overturning tables, and pillaging villages (I have it on good authority that William's 1066 conquest was the result of the duke's failed novel). Again like Crystal's character, I always seek an excuse for the inspirational stream's meager flow. Perhaps the cream of my talent is skimmed off by the students I help, allowing them to construct passing essays and damning my frequent creative attempts to malnutrition. Maybe I've emaciated my mind by playing too many video games and watching too many cartoons, leaving me with a polluted wasteland for a brain--an atrocious lie given the creative richness of both mediums. Perchance my creative powers have atrophied from a lack of exercise? If only blame were riches.

So often have I fallen that I've sought the most ridiculous of remedies. I've hazarded daily journals, prompts, discussions, practice, abstinence, dramatic experiences(à la Throw Momma from the Train), and pure force of will all in the attempt to rape the muse(read Gaiman's "Calliope" in his Sandman series). Needless to say, none were successful, though some yielded interesting results of other natures.

Strangely, the greatest remedy for the drought of inspiration derives from a musing a friend once spoke on the subject of religious journaling. He suspected that people are intimidated by journaling because they feel they must write something profound. And there was the rub. The same infernal desire which animates the charm of writing serves as its chain. Only when one lets go of the demand for perfection can one dare to brush its robe. As Ken Robinson in one of his TED presentations states, creativity in children stems from their ignorance of failure. By knowing how one can fail, one is doomed to falter, but if one forgets how to fail, one releases his or her skills from the chain. Absolute faith results in absolute satisfaction. The trouble is mustering absolute faith, and that is still beyond my understanding.