Snapping the Slump

"A writer is someone for whom writing is more difficult than it is for other people." – Thomas Mann

 
 
Several years ago, I read or heard somewhere that when Michaelangelo was asked how he decided what the statue of David would look like, he said, "It was already there. All I did was remove the excess rock around it."
 
I do not profess to have Michaelangelo’s vision, but when I am in the right place–when I am "in the groove"–I write in much the same fashion. I can just stare at a blank page and after a while the words begin to form themselves, falling into their proper places.  It is as if I am simply clearing away the white space and revealing the black lines that are already on the page.
 
Then there are the other times. Times like now.
 
These are the times when no matter how much "rock" I clear away, the only thing I have to show for it is piles and piles of rubble–ideas that started out with promise, and ended up going nowhere.   At first, it’s annoying. Then it it gets frustrating. Eventually, it becomes a dull feeling in the pit of my stomach.
 
That feeling is the intense desire to write without the ability to do so.  I walk around with it for days at a time.  No matter what I am doing, writing is not far from my mind.  I feel as though I will tear myself to pieces from the inside if I don’t write SOMETHING.
 
And that is where things get complicated.
 
As much as I need to write something, I don’t want to write just SOMETHING.  I want it to be worth something to you as the reader.  I want it to convey the depth of emotion I feel when I think about it–and ultimately, when I write it down.
 
I believe I occasionally write things that are worth it to more than just me.  As for conveying the things that I feel–I still haven’t figured out how to do that.
 
Still, I have to write.  I have to get this feeling out of my stomach.  So, I resort to something like this–writing about writing.  "I don’t have a good idea, so I’ll write about how much it sucks not to have a good idea!"
 
Talk about a cop-out.
 
I mean, does anyone really care about the process?  Isn’t the finished product what matters to you?
 
I realize as I get to the end of this particular entry that not only do I not have a clever way to end it, but I’ve basically verbally vomited all over you people…but I never apologize for what I write, so instead I ask that you not hold it against me.  If you can’t get the stains out with club soda, I’ll pay for the dry cleaning.