It’s an opressively hot October afternoon. I have the worst writer’s block of my life. I can write a few words together, I can create one or two images, but I can’t connect them. I want to tell the story of the young girl who sees the carnival come to her small town, the girl who is just 18, and aware of her power over men, the girl who tries to use this power on a young ride operator so she can escape her small town. The girl who has her power turned back on her and ends the story crying in an empty field surrounded by torn tickets and cigarette butts.
I want to tell the story of the powerless man who watches his wife cry herself to sleep at night. The man who can’t provide for his family, the man who can’t protect them from the Bogeyman. The man who wanders his empty house at night, looking for the joy he knows once lived there. The man who waits for exhaustion to claim him in the deep of night, and give him a brief reprieve from his sadness.
The stories sit cross a river of doubt and frustration, and the ferryman demands a payment I don’t have. I decide to walk down the shore, in search of a bridge.
I find myself in Old Town Pasadena, in front of Hooters, where this whole journey began. Maybe my muse is inside.
I walk in and find the place filled with middle-aged businessmen who drink beer and leer at the young waitresses over fish sandwiches. A young girl with hair so bleached it looks like straw says, “Welcome to Hooters!”
“Can I get food at the bar?” I ask.
“Of course!”
“Thanks,” I say, and take a seat.
The waitress working the bar appears to be about the same age as me, in stark contrast to the other girls who look like they’re all in their early 20s. There are heavy bags beneath her tired and sad eyes.
“What can I get you?” she asks.
“A Guinness and a cheeseburger,” I say.
She turns, and pours me a pint. It’s still settling when she puts it in front of me.
“Not many people drink Guinness in the middle of the day,” she says.
“Is that a fact?” I say. In my mind I’m Sam Spade or Phillip Marlowe, and I’m in a 1920s Hollywood speakeasy.
“It is,” she says, “I think this is the only pint I’ve poured all day.
“Well, I don’t like to drink beer I can see through,” I say, as I lift the now-settled glass to my lips.
Her laugh doesn’t make it to her eyes, but it’s still friendly. I find a kindred spirit in her sadness. We’re both in a place we didn’t expect to be. I bet I’m the first guy she’s waited on all day who hasn’t stared at her skimpy outfit while talking to her.
“Hey, honey, can we get another pitcher of Bud over here?” calls a guy in a George Zimmer signature suit at the corner of the bar. His tie is loose and he bounces his leg on the rail. It shakes under my foot. I don’t like that at all.
I look around the restaurant. I’ve never seen it this full during the day. John Fogerty tells me that there’s a bad moon on the rise.
“Sure,” she says, and walks down to the taps.
Two young girls turn heads as they walk in and sit at a table behind me. “Oh my god! Your eyebrows look so great!” the tall one says.
“Don’t they? I totally had them tattoo’d on,” she says.
I tune them out and count the rings down my glass: one . . . two . . . three.
Four.
I look down the bar and see Men’s Wearhouse and his business partners putting their best midlife crisis moves on the waitress — my waitress. Brown Suit stares at her chest while Blue Suit flashes a capped smile at her. She giggles and fusses with her hair, and fills their glasses.
“Hurry back!” Brown Suit says, as she walks back up the bar.
Five. I stare at the top of my beer. It looks like clouds over a black sky.
“So what do you do?” she asks.
” . . . I guess I’m a writer.”
“You guess you are, or you are?”
“I am. I’m blocked today.”
“By what?”
“The Bogeyman.”
“What’s that?”
“A convenient literary metaphor.”
“You are a writer.”
I laugh. “Yeah, I guess I am.”
“Have you written anything I’ve read?” she asks. A loaded question.
“Probably not,” I say, “I wrote one, and the people who read it seem to like it, and I’m working on another one.”
“But you’re blocked today,” she says.
“Yeah. This place is sort of involved in my career choice, so I thought I’d come here and try to break the block.”
“How’s that working out for you?” she asks. A flicker of mirth passes her eyes.
“Well, at the very least, I’ll get a Guinness out of the deal.”
197 thoughts on “can’t see useless”
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Sometimes the only way to get beyond a block is to do just what you did. You should hold on to that piece to work into your next collection…very well done. I haven’t ever entered a Hooters (and never plan to) but your description put me there mentally.
Break a leg…
-Devon
Well just think for a second, man — you wrote *this*. Complete strangers think it’s worth reading, think it says something that touches the heart and mind. So you can’t write what you want to write today. Looks like you don’t get to drive right now, somebody else has a story that wants telling. You’ll get to drive tomorrow, or some other nearby day.
Cool, Wil.
Very cool.
I’m not a writer. Though I have been inspired by you to create a blog. Unfortunately, I also want to learn XHTML/CSS and host the bloody thing myself. I’ve also have iBlog which I haven’t used because it doesn’t make me happy. All in all – I’m procrastinating and the reason is do I really want to be that honest (like yourself).
So maybe that is a reason for the mental block or as I remember reading about writer’s block that it has to do with the familiarity the writer has with the material. Maybe read a Biography on P.T. Barnum to see what it was like? Or what are the issues that you are trying to bring up – have you ever had those issues?
Or maybe you just need another beer?
Jake
Wil…you are simply an amazing writer. And I think the clog has been fixed because that was beautiful. I love your words, the vision and image that they create in my mind is vivid beautiful even if the situation isn’t always meant to be. I agree with another poster, just write, whatever it is, even if it doesn’t make sense just write and write and write….your bridge will come.
A friend of mine had left her copy of ‘Dancing Barefoot’ in my car the other day and I hadn’t realized it until this morning when I got to work. Seeing as how I’d gotten there a tad early, I sat and read a little of Houses in Motion. I noticed the time as I started reading and decided it was best to go in and read there so I wouldn’t chance getting lost in your amazing writing and being late for work while sitting in my car right outside.
I sat at my desk when a co-worker walked by. She asked me what I was reading, instead of telling her, I just lifted the book so she could see the cover.
“Wil Wheaton, the Star Trek guy?” she asked in a quasi-puzzled manner.
I looked at her with a slight look of annoyance on my face. Then, for a minute, I kinda thought about the writer’s block you’d dealt with yesterday.
I answered, “No. Wil Wheaton the writer.”
She looked at me even more puzzled than before and walked off. I was a little proud of that. I got my Uncle Willie’s back! I was about ready to go back to reading, but my friend saw I had the book with me and asked for it back. Dammit. So I bought one.
Listen, you write better with your mind blocked that I could with a brain enema.
You have “it”. No, not the “it” that requires penicillin. Your “it” is the gift of knowing that there is more inside you. What you’ve already written is the easy stuff. You know, it’s like the pistachios that are already open. We just open the package and voila! On the other hand, we know that the ones still in the shell are gonna be even better, but man they’re a pain to get at. Mmmmm… pistachios!
I have only discovered the whole web log phenom in the past few months. Even when you are in what you perceive as a dry spell, it’s still my favourite read. Keep sharing your process of self-discovery. That’s where you will find what’s deep inside.
Or not. What do I know? I’m a teacher.
Thanks!
You can only beat writers block one way, and that is by writing. I think the whole bidness with the mens suit guy was a little weak, and a little mean. And why are you going to hooters by yourself, ya horndog.
Keep plugging away…it shall come.
Oh Holy Jesus. That’s writer’s block, eh? Wow. I think I’m in love. 🙂 Amazing.
Wow hard beat vibe at the Hooters. Way to go Super Kerouac. It’s easy when you wright about your day.
For someone with writters block you sure wrote a lot 🙂 I can’t write that much on a good day.
Probably after the 2nd pint of Guinness, the writing gets easier. As does the leering.
I think that a tasty cheesburger and a pint from hooters is probably the best idea for writer’s block I’ve ever heard of..
that was a great story
Funny…when I developed a massive case of writer’s block, I did the same thing. Only, it became the entire story.
I stayed in my dingy little bar and decided to make a story of it. Or a website of it, I guess.
I spend far more time developing and talking to those characters in my bar (not a Hooters unfortunately, although now I might have to arrange for something as salacious) than I do on my ‘legitimate’ writing.
Thanks for the story.
I used to paint/draw. I don’t think I was particularly good, in fact, there is only one painting I’ve done that I liked. That didn’t matter because I used to be able to disappear from the world when I had a paint brush or pencil in my hand. For just a moment, I could block out all of the noise and just … be. That all stopped when a close friend committed suicide. My private world was filled with horrible images and I felt like I couldn’t go there anymore. That was a long time ago. I’m married and have 2 beautiful girls. Two weeks ago, I picked up a sketching pencil for the first time in 18 years, and I visited that place again and found only the smiles of my daughters as we played in a pile of leaves. We’ll see what happens next.
I hope you do write the story about the girl and the powerless man. It’s one of the main reasons I bought Dancing Barefoot…that Santa Barbara story was beautiful.
I can imagine you’re blocked because it’s intensely personal, and words can’t do justice to the emotions involved. I predict someday it will come pouring out in the only way it could have been written.
so you are Blocked?!
ok so what I find that help’s me alot when i am blocked, i rally not a writer I love to draw thing people animals homes everything but any how what helps whn i get blocked i take a walk do other things i love and enjoy like reading your book or others , clean my house teach children they all help me see what i was not seeing before
just leve the computer and say to your self what do i love and enjoy the most and go and do it.
;-))
chris
Dude, what your problem is is that you had a Guiness. You should have had a Bass Ale. Or three…….
Wil,
Not a bad sketch. One technical point: a pint is pulled, not poured. From a tap, anyway. I assume in the sketch it’s from a tap. I’ve gathered you’re cool enough to take technical corrections at face value.
Uh, Romulans off the port bow. There’s one you’ve never heard before!
S.
I love what you wrote. It made me want to know more about that 18 year old girl. It made we want to know why the waitress had saddness in her eyes, where she has been in her life. I had a visual of the entire encounter at that resturant. I do not think you have a block, for you are writing superbly. Thanks for that.
Me thinks the Bogeyman took the writers block away
That was beautiful..
Have you been watching HBO Wil? (Carnivale)
Your post kicked ass…
You are fine..really.
I have to say that was one of the best things I’ve read in a long time, even more so than most of the stories I had to plow through in The Norton Anthology of Short Fiction. A steep claim, I know, but an honest one.
As for the other two stories, my creative writing prof told my class: “Somethings there are things that were not meant to be written.” Meaning: sometimes things will never come out the way you want them to. Ever. Or sometimes they just won’t develop right.
Or, maybe in this case, they just need to stew for a while. How long, I can’t tell you. It took me two years to write the story I wanted to, but that’s because it needed to stew for that period.
Ok, I’m done.
Wil, did this woman have ANY idea who you are? I’m so completely surprised at her lack of pop culture knowledge… but then again that’s not exactly what Hooters waitresses are known for. Mmmmm… wings.
Brad
When inspiration stalls out, it’s because the unconscious is on strike. You have to go to the negotiating table and listen. It always happens for a reason, and you must appreciate that (in the Jungian sense) your unconscious has a degree of autonomy apart from your personal motives and goals. Sometimes, like a child, it will give you the silent treatment.
My daily obsession started with the thought “Hmmm, wonder what ever happened to Wil?” which was prompted by watching you and Ashley Judd on an old TNG episode. Went surfing and that’s how I found out what you’ve been doing with yourself.
It took me two months to start at the beginning and read all the entries. I’ve laughed, I’ve cried and even thought “those bastards! how dare they?…..”
Remember in one of your interviews when you made the statement about how you felt it was really weird how people feel they know you? Well, we kinda do. You let us in everytime you write down a thought, a memory or an opinion. So, even though I’m a little disappointed when there isn’t much to read on some days, I’ve discovered at the ripe old age of 50, that patience usually pays off and, you always make up for it in a big way.
I believe that writers block is a way for the mind to have a chance to rest and get rid of the garbage so the good stuff has a chance to float to the top. You have a gift young man, never doubt it, ever. Doubt and not believing in yourself is your Bogeyman. Don’t you think it’s time to hang him in effagy and light the fire?
Long time reader of WWdN. “I tune them out and count the rings down my glass: one . . . two . . . three.
Four.”
Classic. I love that, just please don’t become a Guinness fag. It’s good shit and all, but, there are good not so heavy beers available too.
Grolsch, Dab, yeah….. nice.
It really is oppressively hot here. I am sitting in my sisters condo on Euclid (not far from Del Mar) and it’s too damn hot at 8pm! The heat really can’t do much for writer’s block. Funny how my wife sugessted that we go to Hooters in Old town for some wings. Instead, coconut mushroom curry at Sitar. And
no Guiness.
You should have another, that should break the block.
Wil,
You call that a block. You just wrote a good story. You have done better. You have done worst. You will wright again and it will meet your standards.
FG
Anyway, came here by way of my Fiance’s website… he wrote about it in his blog today. Ah… I should just go by my epithet from my Honors Literature Course quite a few years back … “Lover of Dorks”. Here is it 1:18am on a perfectly good Thursday morning, surfing the web and uploading pictures to my gallery of the flowers I just made for our wedding and reading your very well written Blog. Funny thing, life. I look forward to coming by here again sometime, probably on another late night insomniac fest brought on by my “honey-do” list. And off I go to the land of Mac Addicts… Iceland. Keep on keepin on.
216.194.21.155
For those of us working slobs (not fancy hollywooders) Men’s Warehouse is how we save money for our families.
Take it easy, Wil. You have already done the best thing you can to break the block, and that’s writing about the block itself.
As a songwriter, I can’t tell you how many songs about writer’s block I’ve written. And you’re at a decided advantage over me; somebody might actually be interested in your offerings on the subject.
How many songs on the topic would YOU like to hear.
Count your blessings. (But HOOTER’S????)
Well, I’d call that post the best writer’s block I’ve ever seen. Hopefully you will be able to write what you need soon. I know how hard it is to need to write something, and not have the ability to say it. I’m a two-bit poet, and I know how positively awful it is to know exactly what you want to convey, and not find the way you need to say it.
You know how a simple random thought sparks a whole flurry of other thoughts?
Just start writing about worthless crap and you will open your mind to not think so hard.
When you try to hard at something you pass by the simple things that are in front of your face.
Isaac
As a new relative in Uncle Willy’s familia, I find myself taking guilty pleasure trips to read the blog.
That was a great story for a nonstory, Wil. It kind of sums up a little microcosm of life, that by trying not to do something, you do something else. Maybe better, maybe worse, but it was something.
Whenever I get writer’s block, I try and remember that the most important thing is this:
I’m an accountant, and if I don’t get back to work I won’t make enough money to afford my high speed connection so I can go to wwdn!
Wil
I mean this with the best intentions: you can’t write. You write like the 16 year olds in my high school creative writing class. Your “convenient literary metaphor” line and followup? Give me a break? Interaction with a weathered, wise, but beautiful and naiive waitress? Give me an f’ing break. Wil, you can’t write. I can’t say it any simpler than that.
P.S. drinking Guiness makes you cool like cigarettes make you cool; cool isn’t what you drink or wear, so get off the product name dropping – it is BORING.
hey…it’s been awhile for me, but man..it’s good to see the ol comments section back..and it’s great to be posting again here..
i found this latest entry to have a lot of despair and desperation in it..which is sad, but ironic, since the germination of the idea was about writers block…
and after reading it became quite clear to me, that wil doesn’t have writers block at all..
if you see where i’m going..
it may seem to you wil, that you want to write about these other topics, and that you can’t think of the words..
but the words indeed came, and they were great..
just not the ones you were expecting ….
my advice is, plug away at the other topics, but a little less doggedly..perhaps try to story-board out the sequences…how they start, what the middle should be like..and how they should come to a climax..
add notes along the way when inspiration strikes
sooner or later, a story will begin to create itself..
in the meantime however..
it appears that other things on your mind want to be written..
and you appear to be writing them very well indeed..
so keep writing..
and i’ll keep reading..
and thus, all of us will be happy
🙂
Two books got me out of writer’s block. “Becoming a Writer” by Dorothea Brande (an oldie but a goodie) and “The Artist’s Way” by Julia Cameron. Writer’s block happens, but on the other side is more writing. Ocassionally, writer’s block is actually a gift (hard to believe, but true). It can be your inner voice telling you it isn’t time to write that piece yet, or maybe you need to change direction. The writing is often wiser than I am and I’ve learned to listen when it’s trying to tell me something. Sometimes I have to come to a stop to hear it.
Wil you should ad this to the book .
tina
Classic noir, I loved it. Let me know if you ever write a mystery–I’m out of good ones to read now that I finished off all of the Chandlers.
Excellent writing, visualization, etc. etc. Made my morning, except that now I’m behind at work. Thanks Uncle Willie!
God, I love the way you wright.
You just put everything out and your not afraid to put you true thoughts, feelings and emothions into it. I really love that. When you describe your feelings I feel like I can really relate to you and to me that makes you a very good writer.
Wil, that was a really good bit of writing. I don’t even know how to describe why I like it… I think it’s the easy attention to detail. Very focused, but no hard work involved, if you know what I mean. I wish I could find better words to explain it!
Wil,
This sounds exactly like me right now. I got a great novel out of myself in 3 months and then did a terrific edit and now shopping it around to lit. agents…
And now…I’m stuck.
ARGH.
Do “The Artist’s Way” and let your mind flow with ideas. Also, there is a “resting period” (I believe) between books/ideas that you NEED to have or the next one will just be crap.
All the best from a fellow writer,
LL
Maybe he thinks of red and white stripes on narrow paper bags full of warm peanuts and popcorn. Perhaps he thinks of the rat in Charlotte
Amazing. Ot has crossed my mind with what you’ve been up to, Mr. Wheatong. Interesting…Interesting…. I’m curious to know you’re association with Fark.com
Stand by Me was a generation defining movie, by the way.
Cool article!!!