Elvis Montero

Blocked

I’m not going to lie or sugarcoat this one: I must surely have one of the greatest writers’ blocks in human history. I sit in front of my laptop and I can’t write anything. I just go blank. No ideas. No voices in my head telling me what to type. No thoughts of cohesive form. Nothing. Nil. For a person aspiring to one day being a published writer, and one who also happens to enjoy everything about the writing process and generating ideas, this is unequivocally not cool. So pardon me for doing this to you, dear reader. This is my retaliation. I’m putting a permanent moratorium on all the blocks in my head right now. Writers’ blocks, beware.

My thoughts can be perfectly depicted by the yellow block. Yeah, no way out!

Source: Stephanie Choplin

Dear block inside my head…

What’s up with not being able to write? Are you freaking kidding me? Thoughts should be free of this tyranny. Yes, YOU are a filthy tyrant, block! You’re an oppressor whose only goal is to castrate my thoughts and smile merrily while you’re at it. I. Don’t. Need. You! Block, I’m talking to you. Leave me alone! I was having dandy ideas and putting them in writing beautifully before you walked into my life. Who called you? I certainly didn’t. And yet, here you are. What’s your gain? Why are you here? I’m talking to you! Are you ignoring me? Can you believe this, dear reader? He’s not talking back! (Side note: Yes, I know it’s a HE. Mental blocks must definitely be male. It takes some BIG balls to interfere like this and get away with it. I’d have a more enjoyable time dealing with the bastards if they were female). Block, can you hear me? OK, fine! I’m not talking to you any longer.

OK, maybe one last word. Listen, before I finally get this over with, I’d like to express my discontent with these words: back the f*** off! I mean it! My words are free to travel from my brain to whatever medium, device, or format I damn well choose. You have no rights (none whatsoever!) to be meddling into my affairs and stopping me from unravelling my thoughts free. What’s wrong with you?! Do you enjoy my suffering? You, sir, are a pathological sadist. This is the last you’ll ever hear from me. You’re officially a pariah. My brain will no longer be clogged by your insidious presence. You have 24 hours to promptly leave the scene.

Still not talking to me? Please, be advise that if you don’t leave immediately, I’ll buy a freaking scalpel, cut my head open and get you out by force. You’re coming out either by your own volition or whichever other way I deem necessary. By the way, I find your pretending act rather childish. Why aren’t you at least defending yourself now? Oh, that’s right. You can’t! There’s no logical defense for the existence of your kind. You deserve nothing but swift extermination.

You’ve been warned.

Yours truly,

Me

PS
Feel free to stay away forever. Can’t you just wither away and die already?

The Obligatory Disclaimer

I can’t believe I just spewed my thoughts like this all over my laptop. This is definitely not my fault, dear reader. I sincerely apologize. I must be coming across as a gigantic, self-centered, melodramatic douche bag. I concede that’s me sometimes. But not now. Well, at least not right about now. Right now, I’m dealing with this freaking writer’s block! So please bear with me while I try to expel this baleful demon.

[scalpel shines radiantly on my hand...]

Ah, that was cathartic! Now that I’ve finally let my pernicious block know who’s the boss in Elvisland, I can probably try to write something, anything, again. Maybe I’ll be luckier this time. I’ll see you guys around in a bit. No, don’t hold your breath please.