Tag Archives: writer’s block

Blogger’s Block


It’s official. I have blogger’s block. Note that this is different from writer’s block. Outside the realm of my own personal blog I’m really writing quite a bit. Still not as much as I should and nowhere near as much as I’d like to, but material is being generated in my brain and occasionally transferred to a Word Doc.

Photo via Flicker User I'm George CC

In spite of this, every night I open up my WordPress Admin site and stare at my blog and think, “Geez the handful of readers I have are going to forget about me if I don’t start posting more than once a month.” And then I think “I’m going to start posting at least once a week. That makes for a responsible blogger, right?” And then I think “I’m going to blog about….aww Phoebe [my cat] wants lovins…poor baby…how can I resist that face...” And then I spend the next ten minutes making kissy noises to get her to come within arm’s reach and the ten after that petting her before I decide that I want cereal. All the while my WordPress Admin site is silently chastising me for being a bad blogger.

So today I sat down and realized it’s not that I’m not a bad blogger. It’s that I never have anything interesting to say about my life. I mean, the name of my blog is See Jenn Live and in all honesty I’ve not had time to live all that much. Really it’s just same ol, same ol. And when writing a blog, same ol same ol does not good reading material make. At least that’s what I thought. But as I was reading through my list of “Read Daily” blogs, I realized that sometimes admitting that you don’t have anything interesting going on it just as interesting as watching the world explode. Sometimes people crave the sort of regularity that doing regular routine tasks of life creates. Many of us live in a world full of drama, whether of our own creation or circumstantial so the occasional dose of nothingness is a breath of fresh air. Well inhale deeply, all ye who feel driven to the brink by the sheer flurry of activity that is your life. Breath in the bland aroma of a life in first gear. I’ll switch gears shortly I’m sure, but for now, I can be good with same ol same ol.

When Does It Start to Count?


I’m a writer. I’ve said it often enough it must be true. I do spend an inordinate amount of time putting words on paper. Sometimes it is intelligible. Other times it is words all a-jumble and they make little sense even to me. Various threads, trains of thoughts, and story lines wander from my brain to my computer hard drive. Others make their way into my collection of composition notebooks. Some float aimlessly in my head, accessed from time to time but always stored in some distant and little appreciated neuron in my brain.

I do actually write. I’ve written a good number of piecemeal blogs for a host of sites. I’ve endeavored on a few bit pieces for local magazines and publications. I was even a columnist for my college newspaper. Other people have read (and actually enjoyed) my stuff. I’ve been published and paid and that’s what makes a writer, right?

I still just don’t feel it. The stuff I want to write never materializes. But the little stuff that doesn’t cost me much thought effort, the things that I’m told to write about whether I’m really interested in them or not, pop out like linguistic jack in the boxes. I don’t get it. I am a writer, dang nabbit. So why can’t I write what I want to write?

Like most writers, or aspiring writers, or people who think they have a way with words, I constantly find excuses to not write the things I want to write. Some of my favorites and well-used…

  • My house is a mess, I can’t work in a dirty environment.
  • My house is a mess, I feel guilty for writing when I could be cleaning.
  • My house is a mess, I can’t find my computer.
  • My house is a mess, I can’t find my chair.
  • My house is a mess, I can’t find my kid. I really should look for her before I sit down and write.

Ok, so most of them have to do with my house being a mess. Really I could just clean my house and my problems would be solved. Then I would have to fabricate whole new excuses. It’s not a matter of writer’s block. I have plenty to write. It’s a matter of motivation.

I have tried putting a deadline on myself. And then ignored it. I’ve tried co-writing with someone else. Perhaps my desire not to let others down would keep me motivated.  This should have been even more true that my co-writer is also my best friend, CS Jameson. That worked for quite some time. And then our lives and children and husbands (she still has one) demanded our time and attention and we lost momentum. We let our project sit idle for nearly a year and when we finally picked it back up we had lost all sense of enthusiasm for the story. We ended up scrapping forty some odd chapters of work.

I’ve tried freewriting, pre-writing, outlines, and researching. I’ve tried developing characters to the point that I start to believe they are real and drawing pictures of the worlds and rooms and places they exist. I’ve written outside, inside, on my laptop and by hand. Hell, I even spent a while pecking away at an old-fashioned typewriter. And I still have little more than disjointed ideas, most of the best ones still trapped in my head. Even my own blog suffers for a severe lack of attention.

But tell me to write a story about a dog and POOF! I can pump out 1500 words in a hour and a half and I’m not even a dog-person. I am asked to write a script for a service at church and two hours later I can bring people to tears. (OK, so it was my mom. It still counts.) I’m told at work to write a brief biography of a fellow employee and forty-five minutes sees my piece being hocked to the news outlets as a shameless plug for my employer. My blog editor makes an emergency call for submissions and I can drop a full blog with links in twenty minutes. I’m not ashamed of any of these things. In fact, I’m quite proud of them. But do they count? Yes, they are my words but not my topics. When does your writing start to count?

It all works toward my portfolio, I know. So, really they all count right now. But it still doesn’t feel like it. Perhaps its a matter of re-defining what a piece needs to be considered my writing. So what if the concept was assigned to me? I still took the time and creative effort to turn a one-line idea into a full-blown, tear-jerking, laugh-inducing piece. So I think this one counts too.