Words, words, words. That's what we're made of. Herewith some of my thoughts on what we're doing with them.

Old joke: A young man with a violin case asks a New York passerby, 'How do I get to Carnegie Hall?'

Passerby: 'Practise, practise, practise.'

Yep. Practise.

One of the things that gets my nanny is the bleating that goes on in 'writers' fora' to the effect that, 'We have to keep up our standards', and 'Each piece you write should be the best thing you've ever done.' Hogwash.

This sort of bullying cramps your style, prevents you from experimenting, and makes you self-conscious to the point of akrasia. Cut it out. Do you think Michelangelo waited around until somebody handed him a half-ton slab of Carrara marble, and then said to himself, 'Okay, this has got to be great'? Of course not. Even giants started small. I'll bet you couldn't have given that kid a handful of Play-Doh without his starting to knead it into something. Have you seen Willem's sketches? Sure, he sketches like nobody's business – I'm in awe, personally. (You know what I draw like, I subject you to it.) But Willem's experimenting, working on technique. He isn't content with the genius he already is – he's planning to do even more.

So what do you do when you come up against the dreaded writer's block? You practise.

The other week, I had the temerity to post a handful of images, with the suggestion that you try your hands at writing something about them. Minorvogonpoet took up the challenge, and the result is in this issue of the Post. The only response I got from some of you lazy buzzards was the suggestion that I write something – such as the one about Houdini and Speedos. So I did, so there. It was pouring down rain outside and I didn't have anything better to do. I started researching the Houdini family, and boy, did I learn things. Thanks for the push, Peanut. You were the muse of my day.

So you don't like those suggestions. Go to archive.org or the Library of Congress, and get your own inspiration. But do something.

'Oh, this is drivel,' you moan. Okay. But write it out. What's the absolute worst thing that can happen? It doesn't work. Okay, that's not the absolute worst thing that can happen. The worst thing that can happen is that you write it, it's trash, and you publish it, and somebody points this out. Or, even more horrifying, somebody likes it, and you're stuck with a reputation for writing schlock. I did that once, on this website: I thought I was being clever. I wrote a really awful horror story and stuck it in the AWW. I thought everybody would yell blue murder, and I could point out why I thought our writers ought to be less morbid. It didn't work that way, though: people kept heaping praise on it until a sane individual pointed out that the story was dreadful. I agreed, and made it disappear.

So what if that happens? That shouldn't make you feel bad. You're practising. I was practising. Get over it. Ooh, let me find you a Bible quote on that.

This is the word that came to Jeremiah from the Lord: 2 "Go down to the potter’s house, and there I will give you my message." 3 So I went down to the potter’s house, and I saw him working at the wheel. 4 But the pot he was shaping from the clay was marred in his hands; so the potter formed it into another pot, shaping it as seemed best to him.   – Jeremiah 18: 1-4, New International Version.

See? The Lord approves of rewrites.

What you can do while chipping away at the writer's block:

• Experiment with new styles.
• Take on material you haven't tried before.
• Practise rewriting.

That last one is a really good idea. Don't worry if it won't take shape. Pretend you're your own editor – you should be, anyway. Go back and re-read with a critical eye. Think, 'How can I make this work? What's missing?'

Then set it aside. Come back later. Ask, 'What do I like about this? Who do I know who would like it, too?' Then share it, if you can. Listen to the feedback.

Writer's block is not the end of the world. Take it as an opportunity to try things out. It may not be your greatest masterpiece, but you might learn something.

Actor Frank Langella said in an interview that the craft of stage acting involved meticulous attention to detail and the willingness to do the same thing over and over again. He pointed out that sometimes, all the elements came together, and the evening was magic. Other times, not so much. But you kept working at it, ready for those magic experiences. Writing is like that, too.

Stop waiting for the half-ton block of marble. Take the Play-Doh you're offered. And practise, practise, practise.

Writing Right with Dmitri Archive

Dmitri Gheorgheni

22.10.12 Front Page

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