Something Called Writer's Block

  I wrote this last night.  I've had writer's block for about a month now, and this was an exploration of what that actually means.  In the words of my hero, "There is no such thing as writer's block.  There is only fear.  Fear of the unknown."  Ted Dekker is very right, but sometimes there are other things.  Like limitations.

  So here is my... thing. I hope you enjoy it because it is a glimpse into my mind.

Something Called Writer’s Block

The limits of my language are driving me insane.  There are no words to describe what I see and feel.  I can’t make my reader see what is inside my mind, the beautiful world that is tearing to reach the page.  How can I describe my passion, my love, my art?  How can I send my babies to you without explaining them?  I firmly believe that a story should say what it needs to itself, no notes from the author required.

But my characters are my children.

My setting is my home.

My plot is my world.

And my words are my life.

How can I describe that to you?  How can I take everything I am and put it down on a page?  Do I have to write it with blood to express my feelings in a way that language can’t?  Should I include pictures to show the rainbow of colors I see in my mind?  Here, there are colors that don’t exist in the “real” world.

I look at this world that my loving God created.  The beauty is beyond expression.  I feel like I’m going to explode because this body, this mind, cannot hold the emotions that rage through my soul.  I feel a pain I can’t quite describe because there are no simple terms for it.  It makes my heart cry in frustration, not in grief of anger.  It is a constant ache at the back of my mind all through the day, a sharp pain when I sit and stare at the computer screen or notepad.

Words are nothing.  Words are useless.  Words are my life.

I write and write and type and type, but nothing ever happens.  The world I see does not fit on the page.  I write what my characters say, but you don’t hear them speaking.  You can’t see what I see, and I don’t understand why.

We all see things differently, and some understand me when I try and fail to describe my view.  But no one sees it exactly as I do.

I’ll just keep writing those same words until I find the magic order that makes them tell the truth.  I will continue to describe beauty, passion, love, honor, truth, pain, glory, and light until my fingers bleed and beyond because I cannot stop.  Every word you read here is me.  Every time a character cries in grief, writhes in pain, or screams in anger, that is me.

My God, why is Your gift so often my curse?