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Is Blaming Writer's Block Socially Acceptable?
The Joys Of Teenage Woes And AngstSitting at this computer made me want to pull my hair out. Never before had an assignment been as hard to write as the one before me. With only half a page of writing done in the last two days, I could officially say I was stumped. I’ve never experienced the thing called ‘writer’s block’. I’ve always thought it silly when people said they couldn’t think of anything to write of. In my mind, I’d always silently laugh at them, imagining all the different story possibilities I could explore. And now here I am, sitting before a blinking cursor with nothing to satisfy its insatiable need for words. Being a deadly disease of incurable origins, the blinking cursor that was once a mutual acquaintance was now nothing more than the bane of my existence. I could imagine it now, flashing before my eyes and laughing cruelly at my pathetic state of being. Oh how I loathed that cursor, oh how I loathed it so. It was the only thing standing before me enjoying the last full week of my freshmen year in peace. For an hour every day, I sat before my computer praying for the story to magically write itself. Silly I know, but I would have wished for anything to happen to help me get through this one paper. Those meager three paragraphs staring back at me, they sit there and mock my inability to be creative.
Maybe I’ve lost my touch. Maybe my brain is beginning to deteriorate. Maybe I am just all out of ideas. Three or four years of being able to come up with story ideas lickety split and now the well has gone bone dry. I’ve tried to remedy the barren well by trying some old tricks. Whenever I was having a hard time continuing a story I would usually reread it to gather some inspiration, but considering the fact that I had nothing written, it was hard to get inspiration from the measly half page of mockery. If that didn’t help me, which it wouldn’t right now, I’d listen to some music that went along with the type of story I was writing. If the story was sad, I’d listen to sad songs, if I was writing a happy story, which I don’t most of the time, I’d listen to some happy, upbeat songs, and if the story was a mix of every emotion imaginable, I’d just put my music on shuffle. Sadly, I’d already tried my musical approach and nothing up to standards was produced. I even left my somewhat of a story alone for a few days and still, nothing! Nothing came, absolutely nothing but a depressed state of mind and self-induced anxiety with a bit of healthy, rational fear.
What would my teacher say when I showed up on the date it was due with nothing but those insufficient 500 words of pure torture? Besides being far less than the bare minimum amount approved of, it would be even worse than those turned in by students who didn’t even try. I could see it now, those burning eyes of disapproval and slight shock. The pure amount of let down in them would be enough to set me alight right then and there! I ran my hands through my hair in frustration; slightly tugging at my roots. I let out a sigh of relief for the small action of pulling at my hair actually gave me a somewhat liberating feeling. The slight pain distracted me from my problem at hand, but not for long.
In pure defeat, I walked away. No, I wasn’t giving up, but I just couldn’t stand to sit there and stare at the half empty screen anymore. Allowing my chair to make as much noise as possible as I slid back, I smirked at the accomplishment and headed down the hall for a refreshment of sorts. Maybe a drink, maybe a snack, or maybe a little bit both. Who knows, maybe I’d find a story out of it; at this point, I would write just about anything. And if I was especially lucky, maybe I’d run into a daring adventure with suspense and action; one I could retell in a story format. But then again, I wasn’t anywhere near lucky; lady luck had abandoned me and left me for dead above a poisonous sea of fatal writer’s block and disappointment. Oh the joys of teenage woes and angst.