Somehow, the stereotype of the consummate writer seems to be a person who knows exactly what to write at any given time.
My experiences lately, as a writer, seems to be more of being in a state of not knowing what to write rather than what to write actually. That state of mind is terrifying. It is especially so when your job depends on the number of articles you can get out or when your grade depends on the essay that somehow is not forming and you have no idea what to do about the essay.
So I was writing mindlessly for a period of time. That is not to say that I wrote something absolutely stupid. In fact, I look back at some of these articles as fairly well written (especially the research articles). But as someone who writes the best when I believe and am invested in the material I am writing about, I was panicking inside. I was wondering what would happen when I had to go back to my literature articles and have absolutely nothing to write about because I couldn’t formulate a coherent opinion. Or what if I would never write a poem again? The thought crushed me in a way that few other things had the ability to.
Normally, I would have the option of stopping to write for a short period of time before trying to get the ‘click’.
But this time I had a week to get back, become coherent and prepare for the start of the semester.
So I did stop trying to write anything coherent- I just wrote whatever I wanted (in this case, fanfiction and poetry and rants).
When I finally got the click for a fic that was not particularly original, I babbled about it to my friend (Thanks for listening). Do I think that it is a particularly awesome work of fanfiction? I don’t think so- though a friend has told me she liked it, I believe I can name quite a few works that I believe were better conceived. But it did something that some more polished works failed to do: it made me believe that I can, somehow, write again even though I felt like I wouldn’t be able to get back in that groove.