I wrote this before I started to write I Did It For You (you should read it) It basically describes different ways of looking at writer's block.
Observation of Writer's Block — written on 12/28/08
Dead, dead, DEAD.
The dead ideas that grip the inner-self into the single ignorance of the world. The dead thoughts that won't come out and yet hang around your head.
Bursting into the depths of nothingness never to say or write.
The obvious is the unobvious to you.
The gripping idea that will not let you enter into it's magnificent plot. You are just trying, trying to break free from the cocoon that traps you so that you may see the light of the world.
To shed some light on the matter you have just finished and now only blank ideas come to mind.
Many useless attempts to show the world what you can do. Many useless attempts to overcome the little detours that only entertain you for a while until you realize what is really going on. Looking back at the recent years, the unfinished tasks you thought you would finish long ago, now it seems so meaningless.
You are only trying to rise above the useless moments of the blankness that now engulfs your mind. Similar to a dead mirror where you cannot see your own face, even though you know that the mirror's job and existence is to show an accurate reflection. The existence you have now is insignificant if you only have blankness in your mind.
Is it hard to grasp a new idea, and yet not copy it from another great idea that has already been used? Is the inspiration you once used shattered into a million pieces?
Do you need to break free from your thoughts, to get something new that will inspire yourself? Is it hard to keep your dedication and devotion on one piece until it is concluded?
But when once you are done, do all your other ideas fade away? Are these ideas not persistent?
Your mind is like a silent graveyard of the unused and dead plots. Did a funeral take place, and you were never invited? Did they bury all the plots in the dirt, along with other people's dead plots? Is it rotting until you forget about all the plots that seemed so important back then?
A dying idea.
A dying plot.
Dead. Will the ideas drag you along with them until you go down with them?
I will not let this happen. I will not.
This cannot happen.
They are not dead, just sick.
I must care for them, edit them, make them healthy again.
Make them perfect.
I will prevail, and so shall my pale ideas.