WRITER'S BLOCK

I thought of putting up that title and then just leaving the page empty, but we’re writers, and even when we have writer’s block, there’s always something to say.

I’ve always considered writers’ block to be a symptom of my current psychological state. That is, I couldn’t write because my emotional energy was consumed elsewhere: worry about money, a bad boss, projects, politics, family drama. While that is still true, the past few years have also made me wonder if I have anything of value left to say. Age is rumored to bring wisdom, but as my husband often laments, I feel as if I know less now than I ever did. Maybe that’s what wisdom is: knowing how much you don’t know.

Years ago, my cousin Sheri told me about a sermon at her church in which the preacher tackled issues like euthanasia and abortion. He asked those hard questions such as how one decides to prioritize one life over another? How does one decide when life is finished? A friend commented when her sister was dying that in America we treat dying animals better than we treat dying humans. Would I wish for someone I loved to linger in pain when they could choose to end that pain? How can any of us know what the right decision is? The preacher’s comment was that we don’t know what the right decision is, so we make the best decision we can and leave the rest to God. I’ve always found his perspective comforting, even as I trend toward the agnostic.

How is this about writers’ block? It’s similar, I think. I have to accept my own deep imperfections, make the best decisions I can, and leave the rest up to the universe. I have no control, not even over whether I can get something decent onto the page. It’s about sticking it out in the middle of the slog. Trusting that something will come, if I just keep going.

This moment in our history is asking us to figure out how to deal with constant change, change that seems whimsical and designed to create maximum confusion and chaos. I feel I’m being asked to adjust daily to some new presidential whim (Tariffs! No tariffs!) or college administration whim (department chairs! No department chairs!).

I’m reading Jai Chakrabarti’s book A Play for the End of the World, in which a Polish-Jewish educator and doctor refuses to save his own life by leaving the orphanage he runs during World War II because he cannot take all the children with him. It’s a beautiful and complicated book about survivor guilt, and it makes me think that letting myself be blocked is a luxury that I can indulge because I’m still OK (for the moment; who knows in a week?).

Nothing is forever. Our situation—whatever it is—is always in flux. It’s what I tell myself every day when I watch the news, my heart clutched in panic as I watch my country eroding, and its most needy citizens being targeted and marginalized. Take one step. Be an artist. Witness. Use your camera, your pen. Write the next right thing, even if it hurts to write it.

How about you? What does it mean to you to be an artist right now?

Peace.

Lots of fun events this month! Hope you can join me at some of them:

April 9: Harry Bennet Library, Stamford, CT, 5:30 PM: David Rich (moderator and panelist), Lyn Butler, Laurel Peterson, Wendy Whitman talking mystery novels.

April 12, Factory Underground, Norwalk, CT, Time 7 – 10 PM; Doors open at 6 PM: Celebration of Norwalk, Connecticut’s new poet laureate Katherine E. Schneider! Come help us celebrate with lots of music and words!

April 16: Writers in Conversation, Norwalk Public Library, 6:30 PM: Steve Ostrowski and Jean P. Moore, talking literary fiction and poetry! Steve’s book traces a road trip across America to move an aging mother, and Jean’s book tells a story of immigrants and prejudice in Connecticut’s history.

April 23: Perrot Memorial Library, Greenwich, CT, 7 PM: Kevin Pilkington and I will read from our poetry and discuss—for Poetry Month!

All are welcome at all events. Hope to see you there!