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.”
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…incredible…
Heh… I like to think of myself as a writer, although I don’t do it enough. I have been blocked for the past year and just last month, for the first time I was able to write. Just give it time (although not as much as I gave it; writing isn’t my focus so I had other things to concentrate on) and it will feel wonderful once the block is gone.
Writer’s Block is an evil beast. It’ll sit on you and sit on you and just when you think it’s letting up you all but throw your ink onto the page, only to discover that the one thing you can write turns out beautifully, but it isn’t what you needed to write.
*makes a note to try the Old Pas Hooters next time she has Writer’s Block*
Writer’s block. Feh.
There are stories in all of us that are struggling to get out. Sometimes they escape. Sometimes they lie dormant inside until the right time comes — and then they take their first breath. Sounds like you’ve been finding your breath…
😉
Keep on keepin’ on Wil.
Wil, you could always try participating in http://www.nanowrimo.org – forcing you to write a Novel in 30 days (November, that is).
This will either cure your writers block or make it worse.
Wil.
You are not blocked. Tell yourself you’re not blocked. What’s happening is the best work of your life is trying to get out all at once. You think it’s block, what it is, is clog. Write EVERYTHING. Write what’s on your mind, write what you see, what you hear, what you feel, then trust me Wil, it will flow like it has never flown before.
Believe me.
I knew the writing would find its way out. =^)
Writers block must be gone, because that was fabulous.
Keep it up Wil.
-Jeffery
Writers block must be gone, because that was fabulous.
Keep it up Wil.
-Jeffery
My muse has also been on strike. I don’t write, I draw. Some might call me an artist, but I don’t. No profound words of wisdom beyond that.
Writers block must be gone, because that was fabulous.
Keep it up Wil.
-Jeffery
What the Hell…
Sorry about the three identicle posts.
I kept getting messages saying it could connect to some cgi script.
I feel like an ass.
Baby steps past the writers block.
Red wine often times finds my muse… Did the cheeseburger help?
What you wrote was beautiful. And even from the short synopsis you gave of the two stories in your mind, I could totally see the story unfold. Give it time if it hasn’t happened yet. They will come and you will be proud of them when they do.
Relax and have a Guinness on me.
Beautiful. Poignant. Thought-provoking.
You are an excellent writer, and no one, not ever you, can change that.
Keep on writing, I’ll keep on reading!
The cheeseburger was fatty, greasy, processed and bad for me.
It was JUST what I needed.
Beautiful. Poignant. Thought-provoking.
You are an excellent writer, and no one, not ever you, can change that.
Keep on writing, I’ll keep on reading!
Well, you told that story masterfully. Writer’s block starting to disappear, huh? 🙂
Beautiful. Poignant. Thought-provoking.
You are an excellent writer, and no one, not ever you, can change that.
Keep on writing, I’ll keep on reading!
Hrm . . . the Boingo song doesn’t quite jive with the flavor here, but the title is such a good one. Neil Gaiman says that when he gets blocked on something, he switches over to working on something completely different. It seems to help having a couple projects going at once. I don’t know if that’ll help, but it’s a suggestion.
I went to high school with one of your fellow Acme players. I stumbled on your blog through that website, and everyone who’s been raving about it is right — it is very good journalling. It’ll come to you. Just keep pushing.
Beautiful. Poignant. Thought-provoking.
You are an excellent writer, and no one, not ever you, can change that.
Keep on writing, I’ll keep on reading!
Wil,
Dude, that was absolutely awesome. The way you turned just a simple thing like swinging by Hooters and turning a burger and beer into something that had me enthralled the whole time shows me your block is gone, though I think that burger might have other plans. I had a cheeseburger at the Hooters in Santa Monica and… we’ll not go there.
Those first two stories… I think you have a great set of ideas. I’d love to read those. Well, keep up the excellent work, Wil. You’ll be fine. And if I ever see you at the Hooters in Old Towne Pasadena, I’ll buy you a pint.
Hey Wil — Maybe try “It Only Makes Me Laugh” or “Try to Believe” to get the spirits back up. (-;
I like Drew’s idea about beging “clogged” instead of blocked. Seems to be on to something there…
Your writers block story grabbed me right away.
I felt all of the emotions as your felt them.
By the way I hate Hooters. Otherwise the makings
of a great addition to another book.
Life is about struggle, pain and adversity.
Your writing deals with all of these things
so well.
Thanks Wil
Great post. And even if you just got a Guinness out of it, life is still good.
Very nice Wil! It is nicely visual 😉
You make the little moments come alive, especially when you’re blocked. Perhaps this hurdle you’re trying to cross wants to teach you something about observation.
I find stress blocks my creativity stronger than anything. It looks like lunch at Hooter’s eliminated yours. You’re on the right track now. Keep going!
🙂
Scott
I find stress blocks my creativity stronger than anything. It looks like lunch at Hooter’s eliminated yours. You’re on the right track now. Keep going!
🙂
Scott
I find stress blocks my creativity stronger than anything. It looks like lunch at Hooter’s eliminated yours. You’re on the right track now. Keep going!
🙂
Scott
I find stress blocks my creativity stronger than anything. It looks like lunch at Hooter’s eliminated yours. You’re on the right track now. Keep going!
🙂
Scott
I guess I’m not the first to say it.. but it certainly looks like youre writer’s block has left.. almost unfortunate that it resulted in a vignette rather than the fiction you wanted, but your prowess has clearly returned in spades. I could see the bartendress.
I find stress blocks my creativity stronger than anything. It looks like lunch at Hooter’s eliminated yours. You’re on the right track now. Keep going!
🙂
Scott
I find stress blocks my creativity stronger than anything. It looks like lunch at Hooter’s eliminated yours. You’re on the right track now. Keep going!
🙂
Scott
oooops! Sorry! I kept getting error messages!
oooops! Sorry! I kept getting error messages!
As far as writers block is concerned, it seems I’ve got the writers block flu considering I’ve been trying to write this particular story.. and sadly it just isn’t surfacing.
Needless to say, writers block really sucks.
Just as long as the pendulum doesn’t swing totally in the other direction, and your version of “the visitor from Porlock” makes an appearance.
Awww.
Manly arm punch of manly non-gay man-support for the powerless guy.
Whenever I get it I just try to go to sleep. Inevitably a million thoughts will assail you just as you are getting comfortable in bed, forcing you to drag yourself out and start typing before you forget it.
(note: this doesn’t work if you have a writing implement in the bedroom)
Keep up the good work Wil.
Whenever I get it I just try to go to sleep. Inevitably a million thoughts will assail you just as you are getting comfortable in bed, forcing you to drag yourself out and start typing before you forget it.
(note: this doesn’t work if you have a writing implement in the bedroom)
Keep up the good work Wil.
Hey Wil,
Seems like everybody’s trying to tell you you don’t have writer’s block, and in truth, I came on to tell you the same thing too. But it seems like it may not be what you need to hear, so let me tell you this instead. Your post, like nearly everything of yours that I’ve ever read, was touching, honest and true. It made me want to laugh and cry at the same time. You are a fabulous writer, and if you’re blocked right now, I can’t wait to read you when you’re unblocked.
Scott
I have been reading your log for about a year now. Each visit consists of something new, but has never prompted me to write. Until I met “your” waitress this evening. So beautifully alive and vivid in your words. Thank you for sharing her, and yourself, with us.
Am I the only person thinking this post reminds me a LOT of Tom’s Diner….?
We need to put this stuff to music, Wil. Seriously.
“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 like how you’re a BIG FUCKING LIAR.
😉 That probably didn’t help, but good god, man, that really was brilliant.
Anyway, yeah, what everybody else said. Just keep your fingers moving, and eventually what you want to say will be on the screen without you even noticing it.
THERE it is!!
Way to use the bogeyman’s power for good, not evil!
I think that reading something is a great way to break out of writer’s block. Maybe even something you’ve read before, your very favorite book (mine is _Dirk Gently’s Holistic Detective Agency_ by Douglas Adams. A must-read if you haven’t.
Something else to do is play one of the video games that you grew up with. Not GTA or something that you’ve gotten recently, but something that you played as a kid. I just hooked up my Genesis and played _Star Control_ for the first time in a couple of years; I feel more balanced this evening that I have in weeks.
Good luck!
Probably, no ‘is’, the best post I’ve read in two years. For a lot of reasons. Peace, Wil.
writers block my ass. i loved reading that. your an awesome writer, keep it up! 🙂
He’s back!!!
I told you all!
Hahaaaaaa!!!
Never.
Leave.
Again.
Right. Now I am going to read this post again.
And again.
And again.