A Letter To Writer’s Block

Dear Writer’s Block,

You’re like that unexpected guest who always overstays his welcome. I dread your arrival more than I dread the arrival of my periods, and that’s saying something. I’m sure when you started out, writers brushed you off like, let me just get some fresh air, may be the words will come then. But with time you grew so notorious that they had to give you a name. Writer’s Block. Like they name serial killers after they’ve done one too many murders.

I don’t hate you, I despise you. Do you know how hard it is to not be able to put down what you feel on paper? It’s like being trapped inside your own head. Forget writing thought-provoking, emotionally charged or exemplary literary pieces, even my diary entries take a hit. Sample this, “Life really sucks right now. Hope things get better. May the force be with me.” Ending with a clichéd pop culture reference from a franchise that I don’t even follow. Amazing, isn’t it? Nope.

What do you have against words? As the great Dumbledore said, “Words are our most inexhaustible source of magic.” AND DUMBLEDORE IS NEVER WRONG! (Okay maybe only when he’s being a manipulative bitch to Harry) Wait, where was I? See, going off topic plus unnecessary use of uppercase letters and parentheses; you really bring out the worst in me. Can you read the title? ‘A Letter To Writer’s Block’. I mean I couldn’t even bring myself to come up with something even slightly interesting like ‘Writer’s Unblock’. Or ‘That Which Shall Not Be Written’. Or ‘Can’t Write, Will Rant’.

All I’m saying is writers are good people. They’re trying to change the world, one word at a time. And you have no right to interfere. I’ll be very elaborate – fuck you. I’m going to write, block or no block.

Not even signing off.

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Of Oceanic Wisdom

The ocean was calling out to him, like it always did. The moment it came into sight, he knew it was different. The view was unlike any other he’d ever seen. It was gloomy yet alive. It was fierce yet soothing. The waves lashed out at the rocks, dragging the sand away from the beach, only to be reunited with much fervor.

“Hello” he said. “Feels like I’ve been waiting to talk to you since forever.”

“Tell me what’s on your mind.” said the ocean.

“Will you help me find answers?”

“No I’ll help you understand your questions better.”

“What does that even mean?”

“It means that I’m just an ocean. What’s going on in your mind is far more complex and infinite than I am. All I can do is make it clearer for you. Throw your thoughts at me and I’ll return them to you, washed and stripped of all delusions, all pretense, and all colors.”

“And how will it help me?”

“Sometimes all you need is perspective.”

” I’ve heard that a lot.”

“Doesn’t make it untrue. I’m not a dustbin, where you can dump your thoughts and free yourself.”

“That’s not my intention.”

“Then what is it?”

“I want answers. I have choices to make. I need to find out what my life means or is meant to be.”

“You’ll have to wait and watch. What did you do when one of your flip-flops got carried away by a wave.”

“I waited.”

“You waited for it to wash ashore. What if it hadn’t showed up?”

“I would have gone home barefoot.”

“Exactly.”

“Is this the moment where I have a sudden realization and it dawns upon me what exactly it is that you’ve been trying to tell me?”

“Not really.”

“Then what am I supposed to do?”

“Can’t you just be?”

“I guess I can.”

“There you go.”

HELLOO! It’s been an hour since you’ve been staring at the ocean. Let’s go, everyone is waiting for you to leave.

“I was having a conversation.”

With yourself?

“You know what… that might actually be true. Let’s go.”