There’s no such things as writer’s block, I’m told. Although it’s also real.
Seth Godin, a writer I really like, assures me of this.
It’s one way of thinking about it. The fear, he says, is really fear of bad writing. Plumbers don’t have plumber’s block, he assures me. Nor do electricians get wiring block.
They may have to think a few extra minutes about how to go about their job. I suppose that’s not the worst thing in the world, to take a few extra minutes to plan a strategy.
Daily blogging on the other hand, is more like writing a diary. The only difference is that all of you see it.
I don’t get writers block in my hand-written notebooks, of which I have trunks full. There, I just enjoy the pleasure of creating the sentence, making the statement, trying the metaphor, often rhyming or making poetry.
But this things’s going out to emails. EMAILS! What would I do if one of you got annoyed? Oh, not McNally again. I have GOT to figure out how to unsubscribe.
These are the types of fears that begin to creep in, shutting down the flow of craft. Once I’m sufficiently worried, there is the “block.” I suddenly don’t feel like writing. I’m suddenly apprehensive.
Writing itself is a pleasure. Each sentence leading to the other, like yesterday’s post. I write one sentence and take in the import of its suggestion. Almost any sentence is good enough, although I’d like them to be beautiful. But more important is sitting with its meaning and wondering whether it’s something I can live with as a statement. And if there’s something which needs to be added or clarified, the next sentence is always ready at hand.
Falling from the propulsion of the first into the restful catch of the next sentence, which then pushes me forward again.
It was happy that I made that connection between writing and walking here, and it is happy that the idea continues to inspire.
There are appropriate times and places for apprehension. This simply isn’t one of them.
But “apprehension” also means “to grasp.” To come into contact with the truth about something. (See its sibling, “comprehension.”)
And I do need to write with acceptance. Acceptance that this might be boring. That it might not be of use to you.
I’m going to lose followers, after all, as I establish my voice and learn what this thing is about. Not everyone is going to fancy the McNally sauce, and those who do aren’t going to want to use it in every dish they’re cooking.
But here it is, packaged up for you with a tolerably handsome label. While I appreciate it, I’m not longing for your acceptance or admiration. This isn’t a numbers game I’m playing. It’s a practice which I find valuable. Some people may find it valuable, too.
And while I’m still fiddling with the ingredients, it’s fun to cook.
Ambitiously,
Aaron