Write Through It

*I’ve always been told that the best way to cure writer’s block is the write through it. Here’s a stream of consciousness of how I wrote through it at Starbucks the other day. *

How do you write through feeling like you can’t write? Or feeling like you have all of these thoughts and ideas that refuse to manifest themselves into words about a topic that makes sense? The issue I’m having is that I want to work on 2 ideas today.

One idea I’ve been toying with and writing notes and ideas on for a month. I know exactly what I want to say, the feelings I want to convey and the tone I want to use. But the words….the damn words won’t write themselves. Where are you? I couldn’t find the words at home so I did what I’ve often done when I had to finish any work during my graduate school program, I headed outside to write. My apartment is like an abyss. When I’m there, I literally can’t work on anything. It’s like when I cross that threshold, I leave my creativity at the door.

I think I developed that over these 3 years of working in a corporate space. Although, my job environment is as laid-back as they come, I had to learn how to leave the stresses of my 9-5 at the office in order to live my life. That appears to have become a gift and a curse. But another problem has emerged. Starbucks isn’t really my writing spot. My writing place is Panera bread. But there is no Panera is my neighborhood! And I’m not losing my parking spot. People in my neighborhood are pressed on the weekends and will often park their cars on Friday and don’t move them until Monday morning.

I hate them. Hell I am them. Now I sit in Starbucks in writer’s hell. So many thoughts, ideas and no words are coming out. My first thought: Why isn’t there a Panera in my neighborhood? More importantly, why isn’t there a Chipotle in my neighborhood? Why do we have to live like this? If there was a Panera in my hood, I wouldn’t have this problem. If there was a Panera in my neighborhood, all of my ideas would activate in my mind and the words would flow from my pen like water.

I wouldn’t be able to write fast enough because of all of the words and ideas. I’m going to start a petition on change.org. That could help solve this problem. Maybe by then, I’ll have developed the cure for not being able to write about what you’re truly passionate about. That’s what I’ll do: find a cure to writer’s block. All of my writer friends and their writer friends would greatly appreciate me and then I can write a book about curing writer’s block.

That is awesome. Not only am I helping others but I’m also helping myself. I guess I could also blame the fact that I can’t write with the fact that I left my earphones at home and I’ve been forced to listen to the Starbucks tunes that they blare loudly for no reason. I can’t complain today though; they played my favorite R&B song ever in here, Marvin Gaye’s Distant Lover. I. Love. That. Song. Marvin Gaye. Now that was a writer. He wrote for decades. Then why am I not writing about anything right now? Another complaint I have about this Starbucks shit is that fact that they have circle tables that can barely support 1 laptop, let alone my laptop and notebook.

I think I can’t write because I’m hungry. When I left the house, I was hungry but I didn’t want to cook and then I knew I didn’t want any slop like McDonalds. I grabbed some sushi from the grocery store. Don’t knock it till you’ve tried the sushi from the Treasure Island by my house. Shits good. But I felt Iike folks were eyeing me so I only ate a few rolls and put it up. I hate when I care if people are staring at me.

You know what? There used to be a Borders in my neighborhood but we all know what happened to that. Still pisses me off. There’s still 2 mom and pop bookstores by my house but they’re so small, that you can barely turn around twice in them let alone, actually sitdown and write something. I blame the economy for this bullshit. If you close down all the good bookstores, how are people supposed to write? What are we supposed to do?

My homegirl just called me. She’s having writing problems too. She’s thinking of driving a cab. She heard they pay well. Damn should I start driving a cab? That could give me hella ideas and stories. Anything is better than the pole. Although if I had the body, I’d consider it.

So there you have it. In my quest to “write through it”, I’ve finally settled on becoming a stripper. This can’t be life.

The struggle continues,

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