BEDA 2: Writer's Block

You'll never believe it, but I'm actually here! It's amazing that I've managed to remember my second day, though just barely. It's nearly 11pm, and I just happened to stumble across someone else's BEDA, which reminded me to do mine. But in any case, I'm still here, so let's get on with it.

But before we continue, click this. Now that you're back from it, tell me honestly, is it at least 30 minutes later? I bet it is. That shit is addicting. Moving on!

I'm going to go with a topic that might sound extremely boring, but bear with me. It's mostly going to be a ramble, with a desperate plead for audience participation. Yes, you. Leave a comment with your thoughts.

Writing.

Now, "writing," as a topic can be extremely broad, but I mean specifically writing of the novel variety. How many people have actually attempted this kind of thing before? Fanfiction, NaNoWriMo, something you do as a hobby, whatever. All I know is that anyone that has can attest to at one point having had something we like to refer to as writer's block - that most deadly and vicious of all beings. I appear to have found myself sharing very close quarters with our villainous friend, Writer's Block, as of late. Let me tell you, Mr. Block and I go way back to the days of my youth, when I was just a pimply 13-year-old writing awful, horrible, shitty fanfiction. But NOW, I am a pimply 17-year-old writing pretty sweet fanfiction. Or so I have been told. Up to you to decide.

My experience has taught me that very often, Señor Bloque de Escritor appears not because you lack inspiration or creativity, but because, deep down, you are displeased with what you have written. My advice is to go back and reread the last scene that you have written, and ask yourself if you really like it. 9 times out 10,* deleting it and starting over will pull you out of your mental hole-in-the-ground. As for myself, I have found this NOT to be the case at the moment. My story is definitely going in the direction I wish it to, but I simply can not sit myself down and write.

So I come to you, dear reader, for some advice. What do you do when the International Novelist Postal Service packs up your creative juices in a can of whoop-ass and ships them halfway around the world to a 7-year-old Japanese girl with a lisp trying to draw a pony for parent-teacher day? What do you do? Because right now, I am so drained, even my ridiculously overdone metaphors are becoming thin. Help me out, guys. I am in a rut.

I anxiously await your replies, though the little chattering birds in my head tell me no one will reply, and I will be forced to return to my cubby hole and speak to that ridiculous little Mexican rat that insists on feeding me chalupas.

Goodnight, Tiny Humans.

*based on an 1855 survey conducted by the Fictional Writer's Union of Your Imagination.