I’d never encountered writer’s block, or Resistance as Steven Pressfield calls it, like this before. I’ve always put Neil Gaiman’s philosophy to practice – that people won’t be able to tell if you wrote when inspired or not, you just need to get the words out.
But I have to admit I am here. Resistance is winning big time. I delete more words than I put down and no matter how I push against this Wall I can’t seem to move it. My creativity is suffocating.
Have you ever been there – where you just could not stomach the march forward that your book required? Have you ever thought your message had zero impact and no one would notice whether you wrote or not?
The comforting part about these questions is that every writer has been there. From Euripides to Chaucer to JK Rowling to you, every single person that aspired to write has encountered this feeling before.
If the above statement is true, how did they get past the Wall of Resistance?
Last week was the dark battle.
Philosophical questions about my worth surfaced.
These questions were enemies I thought I defeated long ago. Turns out they are always there and I was unequipped to face them this time.
Then a thought occurred to me as I sat down to put words on the page again, something I am sure I read but have forgotten the attribution.
Writing is about writing not about who I am or what I’ve done or not done. It’s about putting another word down. All of it is momentum. And momentum can be slow and grueling. It can take an hour to string four sentences together.
I tricked myself into believing that writing would be inspiring every time I put myself in my chair and when I wasn’t enjoying myself and the progress was deleting the bad and not adding the good, I came away discouraged. When that happens too many times doubts can surface, ugly doubts.
There is a saying in our house. When my young children are crying in the middle of the night or won’t go to bed I repeat it to myself or say aloud to my wife – parents win every time. No matter how long the crying or the number of questions or mess in the room parents win by persisting, by rising above.
If you are here, at the edge of giving up like me, remember that writing is work.
It’s taking punches as much as giving them.
Sometimes you have to wait for your opponent to tire before striking back.
This blog post is my first attempt at a left hook.
What’s yours?
ARIC DAVIS is the author of seven books: From Ashes Rise: A Novel of Michigan, Nickel Plated, A Good and Useful Hurt, The Black Death: A Dead Man Novella, Rough Men, Breaking Point, The Fort and Tunnel Vision. He is married with one daughter and lives in Grand Rapids, Michigan where he worked for sixteen years as a body piercer; he now writes full time. A punk rock aficionado, Davis does anything he can to increase awareness of a good band. He likes weather cold enough to need a sweatshirt but not a coat, and friends who wear their hearts on their sleeves. In addition to reading and writing, he also enjoys roller coasters, hockey, and a good cigar. 
That is an excellent question. For me, I guess I enjoy it. Yes, even the torture.
PART-TIME NOVEL 