Inevitable "writer's block"
It's not as bad as you think
In a craft talk Hanif Abdurraqib did for his book They Can't Kill Us Until They Kill Us, he answers the ol’ evergreen question about writers block:
I think that if you were overcome with writer's block, it might be a good idea to not write. I have a sneaking suspicion of capitalism a lot to this a failure of the way we view our success or or prey it's all tied to what you can produce— the receipts of your labor.
I think that the work of writing is not just what you put on a page, is your whole life that makes you returning to the page easier. When I have writer's block it’s telling me that I need to go out and be human in ways I love being human, so that the world might open itself up to me in a new way that makes the return to the page easier.
My writing practice has always been all over the place. I go through many phases that come and go:
Trying to think of funny punchline tweets that can fit in 140 characters.
scribbling down ideas on Muni before I go to work
pulling out the notebook and jotting down things at the bar before my friends meet up with me.
Being angry about how tech/late stage capitalism is killing me on Facebook (when Trump won 1st term, angry rants transitioned into my mean streak of gloating how everyone was complicit to his win was so infamous that the flame wars on my posts caused some friends to call me via phone on how pissed they were at me.)
writing mini essays in my notebook before I go to bed, reflecting on what’s on my mind
Looking back on why I stopped doing any of these, I can see where I got some of my craft skills from: Twitter taught me how to tell a tight story or joke, to be concise in a confined space. FB taught me how to cite sources and be firm on your position (also understanding the distinction between defending a fact vs. being defensive because the ego doesn’t want to be wrong). The mini essays before bed taught me how to flow imperfectly from one idea to another, ignoring the part of the brain that says “is this good enough?”
If y’all have followed my writing journey so far, it’s been about mastering the “trauma” genre, though life has gotten a bit easier for me:
I’ve spent a good amount of time writing about trying to fit in literary spaces, well those spaces have been imploding like Pen America and Kundiman
(Yes I wrote about Kundiman, fuck Kundiman for all I care.)
I survived my time a reality show was trying to kill me, and went from dishonorably discharged at the end of the show to honorable mentioned online:
As for the overall theme of my anger of being invisible, to which IMO my best essay I ever wrote was about being ignored because I’m an Asian Male, life has changed as I’m not as invisible anymore. Though there are external factors like Korean media culture being mainstream in America (Thank You BTS LOL), and being recognized on the street for being “Restaurant Famous,” but in general to have a society with people glancing at me for their first time without being repulsed or immediately looking away, giving me some decency and willing to engage is something of a novelty to me. I know it sounds ridiculous and such a baseline thing life should provide you with, but it is a privilege that still most underrepresented communities don’t get.
Basically I’ve written how people and life has been shitty to me and, saying life is a bit easier is an understatement as life has me good right now.
My time away from the page during this “writer’s block” has been going out for hours until 3 or 4 am every weekend, replying yes to all to every event. Going out buying gifts for friends and acquaintances because I appreciate them and never know if they (or the friendship) will be there ever again. Being invited to certain parties or events because I can point to XYZ and say “Oh yeah I know that person.”
A couple of weeks ago, a woman sat next to me at a bar was flown from Seattle to SF for a bartending competition. After the light introductions I asked if she wanted to be shown around a bit in San Francisco. 24 hours later after all day drinking debauchery and early morning shopping for bartending equipment, I was cheering her on at her competition. Someone beside me asked me if that was my gf, “nah I just met her yesterday.” The guy was perplexed as he’s standing with a woman on their second date. "How do you put that much enthusiasm in someone you just met?”
Me: “ She seem cool, and I’m just the type of person who goes all in and show up for my friends and people I meet in my life.”
As she finished her round and I congratulated her about her performance, I looked to the side of me and the couple were gone. Maybe my good vibes for some rando killed their vibe? 🤷
::If you wanna know if I have heard from her since, she just sent a selfie with herself and my best friend at a book club in Seattle📚 , and if you wanna know how she did in the competition, that’s her story to tell when she becomes a grand bartending champion in the near future👑🍸::
Why I always reflect on Hanif’s answer to Writer’s block is this second half of the story:
If I have writer's block, I go outside and I go on and run and along that run I see two birds tenderly fighting over the last bit of bread out of a trash can until they decide to share it and then fly away to separate corners of the country or whatever, that is writing. Right? That is that makes my return to the page easier. Write anything you do that makes your path to articulating your passions and curiosities easier is an act of writing. I think that is what writer's block is demanding out of us is that we find other ways to push ourselves that don't have do deal with production.
When you’re angry and want to prove the world that they are wrong, you have to as correct as possible. Basically know your shit and stand your ground. I did that for years.
But learning how to write when I’m happy is very different. There’s this feeling of writing “Good” things being as annoying as that one friend who needs to stop what everyone is doing when we are out and take a picture of the moment for the gram and they spend 20 minutes editing the picture to prove they are having fun instead of actually having fun with us. Or there’s this guilt of writing good things, when the world is burning and needs moving essays that can help inspire others (and there’s a chip on my shoulder that I HAVE written things about these issues and most of my friends don’t read my shit so they can go through my archives and I don’t need to hear their immediate pain that I always had..
..yes I’m still working on this pettiness)
However I’m always coming to the page with the unintentional motive to find what is bothering me and that well drilled all the way down to my misery where I go to fetch for ideas is slowly running dry. Now it’s time for me to notice the garden behind me where all the fruits of my labor of trying to do what is good when the world expects me to be a bad person has grown an abundance of crops. This is me currently learning how to write about the goodness and lessons from it, picking fruits and veggies from that field so that I can cook up into a meal and spread it out on the page to serve out to my friends and readers to enjoy. Of course I’ll make a plate for myself too.
Some stuff in my head that I’m working on as essays:
Jessica Jones and dealing with Variant versions of yourself
Memory Tree, Rogue-lites, and Hades
New Wave Documentary and the philosophy question I have in my head: What If you could never listen to your favorite song ever again?