Excited to be here to bring you a guest post from Fred Waitzkin. Please help me give him a warm welcome to the blog.
****************
Finding Treasure in Writer’s Block
Young writers often ask if I am sometimes afflicted by writer’s
block and if I’ve discovered a cure. Most writers wrestle with this malady from
time to time. Over the years my
relationship to the illness has evolved, and as an older writer I see it as a
frustrating companion who at times can offer profound advice.
All authors relish days feeling on fire with a story when
sentences pour out, almost without effort or thought. They spill into
paragraphs and pages. It feels like riding a magic carpet that will soar on
forever. I call such periods, writing within the bubble. But then after days or
weeks, inevitably, life gets in the way.
Consider this scenario:
I’m just home from a ten-day fishing trip, determined to get back to my
manuscript when my grandson Jack begs me to take him to tomorrow’s Mets game.
Instead of going to my office I take Jack to the game. We’re both excited as
hell about our trip on the subway…. It’s okay. I’d been on a roll with my story.
Another day won’t matter at all. As we rumble toward Mets stadium, I pleasantly
recall the feeling of riding the carpet, the story pouring out of me…. I’ll be
back there tomorrow.
The Mets lose. Jack cries,
inconsolable in his new Mets cap as we’re leaving the stadium. “Why do the Mets
always lose, Baba?”
I’m thinking about Jack’s sorrow and the Mets string of losing
seasons. I’m disgusted with the Mets, a thickening edifice forming between me
and my story.
Next morning I’m finally back in front of my computer after an
eleven-day break. I take a look at my last chapter…. Pretty good. I sit at the
computer waiting for the words to flow…. Nothing. I wait. Nothing. Four more
days pass of nothing. I’m pulling what’s left of my hair. Now I’m living outside
the bubble.
Okay, seven days of writer’s block. I’m back in my office at
9:30. I make a cup of tea. I pace around a little. I have a lunch date at
12:30. I’m looking forward to that. I stare at my Mac like it’s the enemy. I
begin to pace around. I sip tea. I look at my computer. No way I’m sitting
there to suffer any more. I snap on my old radio and listen to sports talk
radio, a discussion about the Mets falling apart after a promising start to the
season. Every year they do it. They cannot hit…. It’s now 11. I look at the
computer, shake my head, no way. I pace in the hall. I come back into the
office and read the paper. Now it’s 11:50. Almost time to leave for lunch. Not
yet, Waitzkin, not yet. I stall another five minutes, pressure building. It’s
twelve. Suddenly I throw myself into my chair in front of the keys. I need to
leave my office for lunch in 18 minutes. It’s now or never…, and if I’m lucky,
the dam breaks. Words pour out. I’m feverishly typing words that wouldn’t come
for days. They are gushing out now when I hardly have time to write them,
trying to catch them in the air like butterflies, get them into the machine…
I’ve written some of my best paragraph this way, when it was do or die.
Another trick for writer’s block: I always carry around a tiny
notebook in my shirt pocket. When I’m riding my bike home along the river,
thinking about the Mets losing streak, an idea pops into my head. I stop the
bike and jot it into the book. I’m talking to my wife Bonnie and an idea
suddenly appears. I’m talking to my son. He shakes his head, annoyed, while I
scrawl treasure into my notebook. “Dad never listens to me.”
Two days ago, I was stumped how to end an essay about my artist
mother. I woke up after a two-hour nap and suddenly I could see the words hanging
in the air in front of me. I wrote them in the notebook before they
disappeared…. Carry a notebook. Just having it with you elicits ideas.
I wrote my new novel, Deep Water Blues, without once
having writer’s block. It was pure bliss, beginning to end. I’d decided I was
going to write a short book, 150 pages or less, something I could hold in my
head without having to turn back to see what I’d written two or three years
earlier. I was determined to write this one fast. And also, I’d gone into it after
having written a screenplay, my first. I wanted this new book to move like a
movie.
Deep Water Blues describes a gruesome disaster that takes
place to a little island civilization—an island once gorgeous, and peaceful,
almost Eden like, and in the aftermath, the island becomes decimated by greed,
out-of-control ambition, violence and murder. At the heart of it, Deep Water
Blues, which was inspired by true events, is an adventure story. I wanted
to tell the story fast, fast and violent with no looking back, no flashbacks,
mostly taut bold scenes as in riveting film…. Writing this book took me over
like a runaway train.
There was no room for writer’s
block in my new book. Pace and length and a harrowing story were the key
elements. Maybe I’ll try that again.
Happy Reading!
PS. I am still on break for another week or so, but since this one is released today, I wanted to be sure you got the info! :)
