Writer’s Block – Existential Edition

“A writer is a person for whom writing is more difficult than it is for other people.”
Thomas Mann

I love being a writer… most of the time. Here’s an excerpt of the type of conversation I have with myself pretty much every time I sit down to write. And, I’m a professional writer. So, this happens… oh, every day.

Me:  It’s time to update my blog again. Didn’t I just do this?? I need something to write about….You know what? What’s the point? Why do we even write? Everything that needs to be said has already been said by someone, somewhere, at some point in time.

Brain:  Hey. Hey, stop it. You’re doing it again.

Me:  Doing what?

Brain:  Philosophizing instead of just writing.

Me:  Shh, I’m thinking. I mean think about it. Every story has already been told. We just add our own flavor, but is it really necessary? The internet feels like so many people are saying the same thing just to hear their own voices.  Like this morning, I went to find a recipe for baked oatmeal and got 9 billion results for what was pretty much the same recipe.  The only real difference I could see was that this one was made by a stay at home mom with 3 kids who just had a book published about sock puppets, and the other one was made by a lady with blonde hair who has a fancy food blog.

Brain:  How do you know it’s fancy?

Me:  Look at the header, that’s a fancy black and white photo of some cheese. Everyone knows that photos taken just from the side – like you’re sneaking up on the food – are fancy. I think there are whole blogs devoted to sneaking up on pancakes. I should probably go look… Wait. That’s not the point.  What I’m actually saying is that the internet feels so… noisy. What’s the point of writing a blog post and adding more noise?

Brain:  Oh just stop.

Me:  Stop? I didn’t start, how can I stop? We are all born into this spiral of life mid-motion, there’s no way to stop anything is there? We are spinning on a planet that we can’t control. Our lungs, hearts, and brains work automatically. I can’t make the wind stop blowing, or my blood cells stop moving. I can’t “stop” anything. What am I anyway? Where did I come from? Why am I even here?

Brain:  Omg, no… please, not this again, not another existential crisis.

Me:  Don’t be silly. I’m just questioning why I’m even here or the point of my existence.

Brain:  Sigh

Me:  I think the thing is this… Maybe *not* saying anything is really the way to say something. You know? Like a silent protest against noise. Maybe I should just date a blank page and post that on my blog. Like an anti-blog. By saying nothing, I’m really saying that we should all take a minute to stop saying so much.

Brain:  You will do anything to avoid writing, won’t you?

Me:  Yes. Yes, I will.

Ava Love Hanna

Ava Love Hanna

Ava Love Hanna is a writer, storyteller, and performer in Austin, Texas. She really, really wants you to use the Oxford comma.
Ava Love Hanna

4 Comments

  1. I think if you had this conversation with the movie Melancholia on in the background you could make yourself feel even worse! You’re welcome for the tip!

  2. I have these conversations with my brain often, only mine sound more whiny and insecure and woe is me. Why am I doing this? Is anyone reading this? Does anyone care? Do *I* care? What is the meaning of life, the universe, and everything?

    Blog land is oversaturated. I know that I’m the blog that people scroll bast in their reader. It’s inevitable. But I hope I’m also someone’s “must read.”
    Leigh Ann recently posted…Some stuffMy Profile

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