I’ve been having a lot of trouble writing lately. There are a lot of reasons why that’s the case. Some are philosophically defensible; others are not.
I complained of this affliction to a friend and they sent along a thing that was published at one of my favourite litblog sites this summer, The Rumpus, a thing I had missed at the time, which was probably good, because now was really the time I needed to read it. Here is my favourite paragraph, but you should read the whole thing:
We get the work done on the ground level. And the kindest thing I can do for you is to tell you to get your ass on the floor. I know it’s hard to write, darling. But it’s harder not to. The only way you’ll find out if you “have it in you” is to get to work and see if you do. The only way to override your “limitations, insecurities, jealousies, and ineptitude” is to produce. You have limitations. You are in some ways inept. This is true of every writer, and it’s especially true of writers who are 26. You will feel insecure and jealous. How much power you give those feelings is entirely up to you.