A Cure for Writer’s Block

I have writer’s block, oh my!
I’m going to sit in a tree, up high.
Where I will look down at my toes,
Wiggle my nose
And think up some prose.
Why can’t I feel flighty
Up here in my nightie?
Maybe a cuppa Earl Grey
Sipped here my tree
Will go with my warm scone and me.
Then onto writing with all my might
As I wave my silver sword in delight
On passion, on vixen, onto my mission
Will I finish in time for my next contest submission?

Hello writers, this is Adair Heitmann here writing to you today about the dreaded disease called writer’s block. All of us have had it at one point in our journeys as writers. Recently, after I developed a creative writing prompt for a writing critique group I lead, I was inspired to write the preceding poem.

The prompt for my writing workshop was: You have “writer’s block.” What is your cure? It cannot be practical or logical in any way. Describe it using all your senses.

The exercise was like a vitamin shot in the arm. The prompt reminded me of the invigorating power of being impractical. Often we approach problems with a like-for-like solution, only to feel drained and more dissatisfied. The next time you are at a loss for words, break out of your routine, do something illogical. You’ll be surprised what you find up there in your inspiration tree.

What are your favorite dazzling cures for writer’s block? Share them in the comments below.

Until next time, keep on writing!

I Reach for Poetry

Hello again to all you writers out there, it’s Adair Heitmann here writing to you on one of the last mornings of Summer. Like many of you I have a lot on my plate, both professionally and personally, yet we all devote time to our writing careers. Over the years I’ve learned to ebb and flow with how much time I have for writing. If time is limited I enter contests for short works, or submit quarterly essays to a journal of women’s wisdom. When I have more time I devote the extra hours to my books and larger writing projects.

Recently, being in an intensely busy period with my job I didn’t even have time to do laundry, let alone write. Exhausted and running on empty I reached for my elixir of salvation, poetry. I chose the book, Red Bird by Mary Oliver. My cup filled as I opened the book to the following poem, and read it slowly.

The Orchard

I have dreamed of accomplishment.

I have fed ambition.

I have traded nights of sleep for a length of work.

Lo, and I have discovered how soft bloom

turns to green fruit which turns to sweet fruit.

Lo, and I have discovered all winds blow cold at last, and the leaves,

so pretty, so many, vanish in the great, black packet of time,

in the great, black packet of ambition,

and the ripeness of the apple is its downfall.

Mary Oliver’s poetry brings me back into my own body, my own spirit. Her words connect me to my greater self and the natural world. Oliver’s poems are simultaneously inspiring and comforting, provocative and poignant. Reading poetry puts me back in the land of the living, and sustains me to join in the dance of life the next day.

Until next time, keep on writing.

[Disclaimer: To fit The Orchard into this blog format the author had to change the layout of its original style. Apologies to Mary Oliver, but her words still ring true.]