Thoughts on Darkness 05: Writer’s Block

All things considered, it is early: only 10pm. Outside the TV is on, maybe American Idol or some award-winning art-house film – the usual drivel. You hear the laughter of your house-mates and think: How do they have the time to have fun? Well, you like bearing crosses.

Another question: Why shouldn’t I join them?

It wasn’t your fault you missed your 8pm cut-off. The office was too noisy because of the new Guitar Hero guitar, or you couldn’t have a cigarette all day. Your boss has probably given up on you. No use crying over missed deadlines, now. Another hour (or so) won’t matter: you’ll finish by tonight so she’ll have it in her inbox in the morning.

You uncap a bottle and settle down; maybe you boil up some Maggi if you’re really feeling a need to take the edge off. Who retires to their room first – you or your house-mates – depends on how engrossing the show is. Usually it holds you for awhile, because what you are really fighting is the dread of exerting yourself to produce something that won’t embarrass you.

Goodnight, your house-mates say, as they shuffle in and close their doors.

You flick off the TV and hear the fan’s whirring. It is neither warm nor cool: a sort of nothing night. The dwindling cars on the street below would soothe you any other evening, but you see the hour on the Astro decoder and say: Ooh.

Maybe washing your face will help?

Remember: you are good – no, excellent. Everyone says so. You have a knack for details lesser writers would miss. Your sense of narrative is, perhaps, too deft for your pedestrian assignment. That the press conference revealed nothing new, and who cares about sustainable energy, anyway?

Nope, wrong attitude, friend. Be positive! Ready your metronome (it helps you think). Treat this as an opportunity: a time for you to shine. Think of the readers you will impress! You have a natural capacity for insight. You will tell – no, show! – people why that the exhibition, despite itself, was fun. You managed to amuse yourself by mocking it.

Take a walk around the house. The floor hasn’t been swept in days; you’ve shed a lot of your hair, through no fault of your own.

Maybe you should be cheeky? Do something that will amuse you, so the night doesn’t feel like a drag. How about writing in the second person? Heh. Self-reference is always easy: you should talk about your process. Tock, tock, tock. Get another bottle to ease into the task.

When you sit at your desk you realize: it is imperative that whatever you publish is Important. You need to appear learned, so your gimmick is not a gimmick. Arts and Letters Daily, Wikipedia, Facebook, these are all important. Some pop culture will help, so open a tab to Something Awful.

Oh, wait, what are you doing?

There, you’ve gone through 12 forum pages that detail a sad American nerd’s play-through of Baldur’s Gate 2. (You’ve played that game yourself.) How is this helpful to your assignment? The clock says Thu 2:23 AM. Okay, calm down. Go boil some water.

Wait for the glass to cool, and slurp, slurp, slurp. Centre yourself. Your eyes can’t help but feel like slits. You are parched. That’s no state for decent productivity. Time to make an executive decision.

So, you are setting the alarm on your phone. 3am? No, no, you’ve tried that before: a nap that’s too short never works. Hm. 4.45? 4.50? You close the windows, sneaking a look at the apartment pool as you do so. Turn the air-conditioning on. Tuck yourself under your quilt. Lay straight, with your palms up.

Dream, and rejuvenate. You are a brilliant writer. Four hours in the morning is more than enough.

Parp-a-parp! After a few seconds of ringing you turn it off, and reset it to 5.50am. You are annoyed. No use being half-rested. Three hours is sufficient.

When the alarm goes off again you set it to snooze, half-knowing what you are doing.

You couldn’t help yourself, you know? It’s a bad habit you need to shake. Lack of Discipline! That’s the only obstacle to you being truly great. Its a crippling deficiency. How do other people do it? Maybe its just not in you. You grind your teeth. The ragged breathing is accompanied by the so bluing of the sky, and a cock crowing in the distance. What’s a cockerel doing in the middle of the city, anyway, damn it? Light hits your blanket like a sack of ball bearings.

(ZS)

~

Photos shot from an apartment balcony in Brickfields.