No, I’m not writing this because I have writer’s block. Absolutely not. And this isn’t some panicked cry for help disguised as 800 words. Nope, it’s just… you know, my creative juices are on vacation. I mean, writers need a break too, right? Right? *nervous laughter* Anyway, who said creativity was a sprint? It’s more like a leisurely stroll.
This isn’t my ‘get out of jail free’ pass on creativity. And no, this article isn’t about having writer’s block, it’s about… um… resilience!
Look, it’s not that I’ve run out of ideas. No, it’s more like the pressure of those ideas, stacking up like Terry’s yoghurt cups. And sure, maybe my creativity is taking an extended siesta, but hey, Rome wasn’t built in a day—and neither are my brilliant ideas. Just because they’re… currently missing… doesn’t mean they don’t exist somewhere, floating around like a lost Boyle cousin.
Every time I sit down to write, I’m like, ‘Today’s the day!’ Then the blank page stares back, reminding me it’s not the day. It’s like running 80,000 simulations of my writing process, and in every single one, I’m somehow both clueless and wordless. Somewhere out there, my creativity’s living its best life, sipping coffee on a yacht while I’m here, lying on my bed with no ideas.
Staring at this blank page is like staring down an empty fridge at 3 a.m. It’s there, I’m there.
Staring at this blank page is like staring down an empty fridge at 3 a.m. It’s there, I’m there, and we’re both aware that absolutely nothing new is coming out of this situation. It’s like every year when people say, ‘New Year, New Me,’ but come January, the only ‘new’ thing we’re holding onto is disappointment. But hey, the blank page and I—we’re bonding over our lack of productivity. So, that’s progress…?
I’ve tried every trick in the book to outwit this mental roadblock. I thought changing locations might help—maybe a coffee shop or a park would magically summon my ideas. Spoiler: it didn’t. Turns out, I’m not an artistic genius whose creativity comes alive in ‘the right environment’—nope, all I got was a hefty coffee bill and the same blank stare from my screen.
I even tried a ‘writing ritual’—pen, notebook, some lo-fi beats, thinking maybe I’d feel like one of those ‘aesthetic writers’ on Instagram. Turns out, the only thing I achieved was becoming a very ‘aesthetic procrastinator.’ But hey, if Rosa can listen to murder podcasts while doing her job, I can scroll through one more meme about ‘me fighting my inner demons at 3 a.m.’ and call it a creative breakthrough.
This is when I switch from ‘I got this, right? Right?! *whispers to self * Right?’ to ‘Oh no, maybe I should start looking into other chapter roles.’
I spent hours ‘researching’ (ahem… alright, maybe I just Googled; come on, under procrastination rules, that counts as research). I looked up other writers’ routines. Hemingway wrote standing up, so I tried standing. Virginia Woolf wrote after a nice stroll, so I took a walk. Charles Dickens rearranged his furniture daily, and I rearranged… my snack drawer. Did it help? No. But now I have a snack drawer organised by crunch factor, so… win?
Eventually, the reality (or maybe the group chat reminders—yeah, they tag you to remind you *sobs in the corner*) kicks in: I’m on a deadline, and like Captain Holt realising he’s been tricked, it’s suddenly not funny. My brain’s on high alert, which naturally means I’m now thinking about every meme I’ve ever read. This is when I switch from ‘I got this, right? Right?! *whispers to self * Right?’ to ‘Oh no, maybe I should start looking into other chapter roles.’
So maybe writer’s block is just the universe telling me to slow down, smell the roses, or… find new yoghurt flavours. Maybe this mental block is just my mind’s way of putting on the brakes before I hit pure genius, a way for my brain to sift through only the best ideas (even if they’re hiding right now). I read somewhere that great ideas take time. In reality, my creativity is just too cool to arrive on time. Or at least that’s what I’m telling myself while staring blankly at a page that hasn’t changed in hours.
Somewhere out there, my creativity’s living its best life, sipping coffee on a yacht while I’m here, lying on my bed with no ideas.
So here I am, 800 words in—not because that was the minimum word requirement. Absolutely not. If anyone asks, this wasn’t my ‘get out of jail free’ pass on creativity. And no, this article isn’t about having writer’s block, it’s about… um… resilience! Yeah! Okay, okay, okay, okay, maybe I’m kidding myself. But hey, isn’t that what writing is all about? A battle with the blank page, fought with bits of desperation and a sprinkle of Peralta-level denial. Now, excuse me while I hit ‘submit’ and convince myself this is genius.
If you’re wondering if I’ll ever write something truly productive, the answer is ‘yes’—eventually. Until then, check out Her Campus at MUJ.
For more insights into my never-ending battle with blank pages, check out my space at HCMUJ!