Writer’s block. The man. The myth. The legend. (Also, the name of the iconic album by Peter, Bjorn and John-2014 Tumblr era hoes, where you at?
A quick Google search for “writer’s block” will produce a plethora of advice on how to overcome it, how to beat it, how to build an immunity against it. Even more gratuitous are all the think pieces you’ll find about whether or not writer’s block exists at all. If you’re one of God’s favorites who has yet to see these hot takes on the matter, I’ll save you the drama: Writer’s block does exist.
Writing is hard. Like, really hard. The only way I can describe how I feel about writing sometimes is that it feels like scraping out the inside of an orange with a fork. Except the orange is your brain, and the fork is the word count or the deadline etc., etc....not all metaphors are created equal, okay.
Especially if you are like me, obsessed with yourself and often certain that the world is out to get you, there is no other way to write than from a deep, personal place. I pride myself on my stack of Moleskines which are filled from cover to cover with reflections on first dates, daily anxieties, new year’s resolutions, checklists, and lost loves. Even when I write fiction, I am inevitably writing about myself.
At 23-years-old I have so much life ahead of me, much more than the life I’ve already lived. And yet, my memory often betrays me. I can’t remember if it was Stephanie or Chanel who called me ugly in 3rd grade, or the color of the boy’s eyes who broke my heart in 11th grade. (Yes...he was.)
Even the memories I am able to recall, I must supplement by filling in the blanks with my imagination. But some days-I’ll be honest, most days I am simply unable to wring the memories out from the wet towel of my brain to produce good writing.
But even when I don’t wanna write, I wanna write. Writing is the thing that makes me feel like me. It’s one of the few things I feel incredibly confident in my ability to do. It’s the through line of my world. When everything else is uneasy and uncertain and unattainable, I still want to reach for my Moleskine and write about the dream I had or the text from a friend that is bringing me peace.
And yet, writing can be incredibly lonely. I find myself talking to my friends all the time about writing, and yet rarely ever sharing anything I’ve written with them until it’s “finished.” That’s why I wanted to create this writers club. For myself, and for anyone else who feels most like themselves when they write, but rarely ever do it.
In these newsletters, I’ll be sharing a weekly prompt with a submission link where people can share their responses to the prompt. Responses will be capped at 500 words, which is a ceiling, but not a floor. Each week I will share a few standout responses from the previous week’s newsletter (with the author’s consent, of course!) as a means of sharing and celebrating those who have decided to be a part of this community.
I’m really just throwing things at a wall here, and seeing what sticks. Who knows if I’ll keep up with these newsletters weekly. Who knows if people will even submit their responses. But I feel passionate about it right now, in this moment. So I’m gonna do it. I’m operating under the pretense that if I build the thing, people will come. This week’s prompt is:
Write about a memory that you can’t quite remember fully, and fill in the blanks with your imagination.
Submit your response here: https://docs.google.com/forms/d/e/1FAIpQLSdbe1bXEOdYhbHP1HNWPtskqcaUwOR3rZnJDYYqvJvbp6L6Bw/viewform?usp=sf_link
Of course, there is no pressure to submit a response at all. I am simply happy that all of you are here.
Until next week!
Celeste