Past The Block

I don't believe in Writer's Block per se. Never have. I do understand that there are times we are less inclined to write, sure, and I believe that there are times when the writing is not as good as it could be, should be. But I believe that a writer writes, and even if it's a steaming pile of crap we--figuratively--reach into that steaming pile and retrieve something worthwhile. Even the most unproductive of ventures can produce something as long as you're writing.

I've been having a bugger of a time writing well for the past sixty-two days. I'm a teacher and summer is often my most productive time, and yet this summer was one of the worst for new and good production. I was half way through working on edits to a book I've been done for a months but hasn't clearly come out of the editing stage. It's my finest work so far, with two distinct narrators whose stories meet in the end. I'm very proud of it, and of them. One of them is named David and there's no denying he's a barely-veiled version of myself. David's narration is first person, in fact written in journals while he travels across Europe on a quest to decide whether his life is any longer worth living.

I loved writing David. I loved it because it was so easy. His voice was so similar to my own voice that I really just had to fictionalize events and react to them as I knew I would react to them. He borrowed my voice, or so I thought. In reality he stole it, and I have solved the issue with my blockage.

I'm struggling with this last edit. Life has got in the way, yes. And I find that every time I sit down at my journal to write in my voice, or at my computer, the voice I hear in my head is mine, but the fictional me I have poured into this character. I can't write in my voice because I haven't put David to bed.

As I said, I love that character. If I am able to publish his tale, he and I have a bit of time coming with even greater intimacy than when I was writing him. And, frankly, he and his voice will be attached to me for the rest of my writing career and probably my life, as they appear to be one. I'm fine with that. Now. Once I became fine with that I understood that to take my voice back from David, I needed to finalize his story, to put that book to bed.

It came as a great relief. I mean, the stress of having to finish and hopefully publish that book remains, but now I know what's been in the way. It was a singular experience. I have never heard of any writer who felt they couldn't write because their own creation had robbed them of their voice. But knowing, I know what to do to be past it.