author: Nicole J. LeBoeuf

Hey yeah, that's right: Not much bloggage for awhile here. And look! No manuscript association. That must mean I've been a lazy ass.

In discussing that much maligned and possibly mythical creature Writer's Block, I'm not making excuses. No no-no no no no! I am having a philosophical discussion.

Go on. Believe it. And meanwhile, I've got this bridge... no. Had this bridge. It is tragically off the market at current.

So. Writer's block. The forms it takes. Let's start with Impending Deadlines of Doom.

Impending Deadlines of Doom cause this writer to go, "Oh no! I have Umpteen Thousand words to write by Tomorrow! I'd better work on that project first. But when I'm done today's allotment of Wordage, I shall reward myself by enhancing my body of fictional work!"

This sounds well and good, and it is--when The Block is not in play. I should note that The Block is oftentimes more cynically known as Total Lack of Self-Discipline. However, it is not useful for the Blocked Writer to call it this, because such terminology leads to Self-Loathing, which is another form that The Block takes.

At this point I should quote a bit from Victoria Nelson's fantastic book On Writer's Block. My copy has sadly gone missing, however. This essay quotes a most appropriate bit: "If you beat yourself because you procrastinate, your problem is not that you procrastinate. Your problem is you beat yourself." My point exactly.

So as soon as I make the work-and-reward proclamation I find myself making exactly Zero Headway on the Umpteen Thousand Word Project. Why?

Firstly, because The Block isn't particular about which writing it blocks. I find myself totally unable to start that project for the same mysterious reason I find myself totally unable to write new fiction or edit existing drafts.

Secondly, because if I never produce today's allotment of Wordage, I will not have to write or edit fiction. Procrastination on the Deadline of Doom now has the "value" of aiding procrastination on the fiction.

I'm not 100% sure how to get out of that loop. My Type-A personality says, "Well, you just have to do it, dummy! Stop whining and get to work!" However, see above about Self-Loathing and beating oneself for procrastinating. My Type-A personality is not always my friend.

More on this subject to further cogitation and researching ideas.

On to The Block, Form the Second: Being Sick As The Dog.

I just happen to be enduring a round of the weekend flu-bug. It starts with a sore throat and post-nasal drip, the latter exacerbating the former. It continues with thermometers swearing that one's temperature is normal or even slightly below normal, and this despite whole-body muscle aches and chills. I have been treating myself with plenty bed rest, hot honey-and-vinegar drinks (I don't have any lemon juice in the house and I quite like apple cider vinegar), hot tea, and hot scotch toddies. And long baths.

Which I point out not to elicit e-mail of sympathy, but to demonstrate a reason why I haven't been writing.

I often look back on my year-and-a-half of chemotherapy (long story involving acute myelogenous leukemia, several fantastic oncologists, the wonderful staff of Children's Hospital of New Orleans, and Metairie Park Country Day School's willingness to accommodate all my absences) and wonder why I didn't get any writing done. Disregard that I was only 11 going on 12. I decided to be a writer at age 6. Disregard the lack of ubiquitous laptop computers in 1987. I knew how to write longhand. Why didn't I put any of that time to use, rather than spending it watching Bumper Stumpers on the hospital television?

Because I felt like crap, that's why. Even when I wasn't nauseated or fevered, I had absolutely no energy. Being in a hospital, being kept home from school, being unable to go outside--these things were depressing, and I don't mean my immune system. Thinking back to that time, I was either miserable or else celebrating short interims of not feeling miserable by, oddly enough, playing. Aside from getting my homework done so as not to fail 6th grade, I spent my up-and-about time goofing off.

Today, less sick now than then but sick enough, I find myself indulging in lot of mindless, escapist pastimes to avoid having to be aware of living in my own skin. Because living in my own skin hurts right now, thanks. Reading myself asleep helps me escape that.

This makes perfect sense, but these days I really, truly have stuff I need to get done. Thankfully, I do have some preliminary workarounds:

• Apply any and all symptomatic relief remedies so as to reduce abject misery (I am in fact sitting in the tub and sipping a hot toddy as I write this)
• Assign oneself small tasks (such as short blogging stints and non-contact brainstorming)
• Reward oneself for completing small tasks (Good for you! You blogged! You get more hot water in the tub and an hour's reading!)

Of course, after dealing with the "I'm too sick to be productive" block, I've still got the "I can't bring myself to start" block in full measure. However, the same strategies appear to apply. I'll try them out over the week and see.

My next small task coming up will be to start WordPerfect 5.1 and jot down what I brainstormed over the past few days. Nothing full-fledged or publishable. Just some short snippets of prose that might, some day, accrue substance. It's only a very little bit of writing, true, but any overtures in that direction deserve positive reenforcement