Writing and Walls: 7 Ideas for Overcoming Writers Block

 Do You Need Some Ideas for Overcoming Writer's Block?


Recently, I confronted the dreaded writing problem above. I was involved in a writing research project about autobiography that lasted nearly five years. During that time, I learned many things about myself as a writer and how to deal with my own resistance. What follows is a partial list of ideas to try when you are suffering from any kind of resistance that becomes a roadblock between you and your own writer's journey.

l. Don't give up, just give in. Sometimes you need to go ahead and leave the page for a while. Go for a walk. Get a snack. Sharpen pencils. Wash the dishes. Just remember to come back and try again.
2. Start writing - anything. Write in a journal anything that comes to mind. Write a list. When some ideas start coming for your writing project, simply shift to the writing about the project.
3. It's no big deal. Accept that everyone who writes gets stuck. You are not inadequate or abnormal.
4. Trick yourself. Say to yourself, "I will just write a few ideas here, maybe one page and then I'll stop." Often times, you start to feel like working once you get over the resistance (and it's all about resistance.
5. Read about your subject. Caution: Remember that your point is to get ideas or get inspired so put the reading material away or go back to your writing screen after you cull some worthy bits of info or inspiration.
6. Bribe yourself. Seriously! Promise yourself that you will give yourself whatever you yearn for (a hot bath, a delious dinner, a funny movie, etc.) and then do it. If you don't give yourself the treat, you will not believe yourself the next time!
7. Cure boredom. Play music that helps you write. Go someplace unfamiliar to write (Starbucks?). Write on the run (while in transit).

Okay, this is just a preliminary list...feel free to make your own. 

  © Cynthia Pittmann 2014

More here:

Vision for writers: Writer's Tips

http://litreactor.com/columns/the-period-part-2-dot-dearth-postponing-the-period-on-purpose

Oasis Writing Link

Spinning Wheels Got ta go round: Revisiting Early Dreams

REVISITING EARLY DREAMS

I had my first painting class last Saturday at the Escuela de Artes Plasticas de Puerto Rico. 


It was a class on color theory. I arrived for the first class two weeks ago and the start date was postponed until the next Saturday. I arrived on the next Saturday and discovered that the professor was absent. By the third class, I expected that we might not have class or maybe some other changes could occur. Perhaps the room location would be changed? (Ah, life in Puerto Rico!) It's okay though. I did not mind the changes because they gave me more time to become accustomed to the routine of driving to Old San Juan, which involves finding parking, figuring out how long it takes to walk to the classroom and of course (for me the essential information),  locating the nearest place to have a cup of coffee. More importantly, I had time to deal with the stress of revisiting the old dream of studying art. 

I'm in a period of life called "the redo" as in the common expression, "I want a do-over!" This "redo" does not include everything done in life (meaning regrets) but rather what was not done, which could also, but not necessarily, mean regrets. This understanding signifies that I realize that it's hard (if not impossible) to do everything in one life.

I highly recommend that you revisit your early dreams. At some point in life, I think everyone should take a look at the remaining memory-bits of their earlier choices (and their consequences) and try to re-construct them. Asking questions such as:

What did I decide? What were the consequences? What choices led to the life I am living now?  How would I like to shift the current direction of my life?

Periodically, we should give ourselves permission start again. In order to have a happy and satisifying life, it's essential to avoid heavy regrets about life decisions. It's so easy to say, "It's too late."  How many people look back and say, "I wanted to be an/a __________(artist, singer, dancer, musician, pilot, actor or?) and my __________ (parents, husband, school counselor, children, fear, logic, or?) made me choose _______(business, teaching, homemaking, and so on). We all make decisions that blame circumstances (such as the preceding) or ourselves and we accept that their direct consequences; however, we don't always know that, in fact, many times we did not decide. We delayed our decision so long that the choice no longer was visible.

We don't realize that not deciding is also a decision.

On a personal note, I don't think I'm alone when I say that many artistic people find themselves in non-artistic fields just because they did not choose. Certainly, we can argue that our creativity has been put to use in another "more practical" career; nevertheless, that earlier desire often demands our attention. It can still push retired people, for example, to take dance, voice, pottery, modeling class or to show up for an audition at the local community theater. What I'm suggesting is that this "foolish" behavior is worth it and nudging you to start now. Don't wait until you have the time. Further, this choice to actively engage the remnants of the earlier less encumbered  you, can awaken the memory of wonder, i.e., the ability to appreciate and experience unencumbered joy.

Be warned! Making the choice to revisit your lost dreams causes mental and emotional turmoil. For example, for the last few weeks  my nighttime dreams have been influenced by symbols of that earlier time in life (and the earlier me) where I changed from being a carefree idealist to a "poser" pragmatist. I choose the word "poser" because those who genuinely know me realize that I remain an idealist. You might say that I suffer from  a Pollyanna-ish optimism and try my hardest to keep her under cover. I'm a look for the silver-lining kind of person. Indeed, I force myself to squarely deal with the dreaded practical problems all of us encounter in ordinary life. It's fine. I have no problem with keeping my feet on the ground. However, I know that a real emotional/psychological breakthrough can be made by jumping out of an airplane- of course wearing a parachute! (I did that!) And if that experience was one of your early dreams, you don't actually have to jump out of an airplane but just engage the dream  and at least (below) play with a parachute (photo credit). Or maybe go zip-lining? (I want to do that!)


 

My homework assignment is met with some anxiety. Recreate (with acrylic paints) the color wheel using the three primary colors yellow, red, and blue (photo credit).




It has to be exactly 15 inches in diameter and "look pretty." How do I do that? Below is what the homework assignment should look like...




Only, a reasoning and/or creative person must be aware that the brushed in and home-mixed colors might not behave! I am a novice but at least I'm choosing how to spin my wheels. I wonder what kind of dreams I will have tonight? 



"Spinning Wheels" by Blood, Sweat and Tears

What goes up must come down
spinning wheel got to go round
Talking about your troubles it's a crying sin
Ride a painted pony
Let the spinning wheel spin...

© Cynthia Pittmann 2014

Birthday Realizations

I turned 30 last Monday. While I used to wonder why people felt shy about announcing their age, I think I'm beginning to understand. As I approached this milestone last week, I began to feel more like I was marching to the grave than I ever have before. It wasn't necessarily scary, but it made me re-evaluate all of the expectations I had held of myself. Like, "When I'm 30, I will have accomplished xyz. My life will be settled and I will be a boring adult." For better or worse, I haven't quite managed to achieve most of that.

This summer my aunt said to me, "You're almost 30. You should know how to clean a shower curtain." Funnily enough, I missed that lesson in the manual of life.

Most days, I still feel like an ignorant kid. But when I was younger, I had more confidence. I was sure I'd amount to something great, like a famous politician. But once college came around, so did the questioning of many systems, including the political and legal ones, as well as society, ideology, gender... In short, I became confused. Which I have remained to this day.

If that means I still don't know how to clean a shower curtain, then so be it. I'm busy living my life the best way I know how. And only I can live it!

Re-posted from BeckyBlab.

Let Me Show You Paris

Along the Champs Elysees, where the wealthy come just to shop at Louis Vuitton, you will see a world pass by any cafe in clouds of cigarette smoke mixed with Chanel number 5. My eyes saw the world that is ignored, a woman who prays for the pennies to come in to survive on the streets of Paris. I feel the March rains and think for a moment of my own heartache of waiting for an artist, a friend, and the pain subsides with the stark hunger in the streets. The beautiful lights lose their luster as the well heeled passer-bys mock the woman I find my heart breaking all over again. These were my beginnings in Paris, where I came solely to pursue my passions of writing and love...only to see I could not be blind.

As I found the beacon of the Eiffel calling me, I replicated the picture on my vision board. I found the park at the foot of the Eiffel and was dazzled by the reflection in the water. At night, alone, an Algerian man try to seduce me with butterfly kisses that lacked the passion that could only be answered by a familiar mouth. An imposter's heated heady stare was extinguished by my icey blue eyes. I was not for the plundering of such feeble seductions. A hunter that seemed to approach with sophomoric fumblings. Not even the power of the Eiffel could spare this man's humilation as I rolled into laughter...a woman with a closed heart..and a deadly kiss of a black widow. I winked and watched the lovers and visitors pay homage to the iron maiden. The modern goddess of love.

It was in this secluded square where I fell in love with the brilliant finger of this classical guitarist...and I swooned. There was no audience to speak of, and I stood there, out of his view to listen to him play as he would close his eyes and be enraptured by his own melodies. I wanted to dance and feel the music in my blood. I thought to myself of how so much comes through Paris. Who was I to knock on her gates and proclaim my dreams? I came to write about my search and quests along the way. In a city, a life, foreign to me, who challenges the world...a city of cities, of revolutions, of art, of intellectualism...I hungered to taste Paris.

Across from Notre Dame is Shakespeare and company. The library, the bookstore, the flop house for wayward cash strapped travellers...so close to the center of Paris. I fell in love again...with the smell of books, stacks upon stacks that I would wrap my arms around. My eyes fell upon a piano that begged for Chopin, and up the stairs I went to a writer's area, cramped, with an impossible typewriter with torn and worn ribbon, a writer's lamp...and an invitation to leave my mark...a dare to proclaim my dreams...

So I did. I return to Paris, I promised her I would return, as lovers do...and I will go and see the real streets and feel the real earth, and look at her with a full heart...to walk the streets of artists, of writers, and I realize as long as I breathe...I will write with every bit of passion within me.

For my dream has been realized, and now it is time to build bigger ones. J'adore Paris. I will see you again in 10 days darling.