How to Break Free of Writer’s Block!

(Hint: It doesn’t actually exist)

Do you have great ideas for a story, poem, or memoir but can’t seem to get them on paper? Or are you a writer who seems to have run out of inspiration but would love to get back to work? In other words, have you convinced yourself that you’re suffering from writer’s block?

Here’s a bit of good news: there’s no such thing as writer’s block. In my two decades or so of being a professional writer, I have never had it and I never will. Now it is true that there have been times in my life when I didn’t write, when I believed I was unable to write, or even when I chose not to write. But I no longer allow myself to believe in that illusion popularly known as “writer’s block.”

Believing in writer’s block is debilitating, just as any false belief is. If I tell myself I have writer’s block, I’ve diagnosed myself with an incurable disease. What am I supposed to do? What’s the antidote for writer’s block? If there is one, it certainly isn’t sold on the shelves of CVS next to the aspirin or itch relief spray. Therefore, I sit helpless at my desk, or worse, I turn on the TV or scroll through posts on social media, wasting my time.

But what if instead of saying, “I have writer’s block” and leave it at that, we say, “I’m choosing not to write,” or “Right now, I’m unable to write.” Now we get our control back. We can unpack those statements.

Let me put it another way. Let’s banish the term “writer’s block,” from the English language and substitute another word: “fear.” And when we get to the essence of things there are only two things in life, love and fear and only love is real. Therefore, since writer’s block is just another way of saying fear, it is an illusion, a hallucination. Yet a powerful one. The dreamworld is like that. It’s powerful. It’s just not reality. It only becomes our reality when we let it.

So rather than pursue the quixotic task of curing writer’s block, instead we can rationally examine the reasons we choose not to write, which are A) external or B) internal.

A) External reasons we choose not to write

Sometimes, the reasons we’re not writing have to do with our environment. We’re not maximizing the conditions that increase our chances of success. That means writing regularly, usually five or six days a week. As writing becomes a daily habit, our brains get used to the idea that creativity is part of our daily routine.

I’m a firm believer that writing fifteen minutes a day five or six days a week is far better than writing eight hours one day a week, for a whole host of reasons, among them, that the fifteen minutes is far more likely to stretch into an hour of genuine excitement that sustains itself over the long haul, while the eight-hour stretch is likely to result in workmanlike drudgery that ultimately leads to burnout.

The key here is to find the conditions that click with your own psyche. Do you prefer to write in the morning or at night? Do you need to be in a quiet solitary space or in a public place like a café, buzzing with infectious energy? Does music help or hurt? What kind of light do you like in the room?

For some of us, our busy schedules can be an external impediment to writing. The key here is wisely budgeting your time.

Studies have shown that the positive effects of exercise are cumulative. That is to say, one sustained hour of exercise at the gym is just as beneficial as fifteen minutes here, fifteen minutes there, and another half hour of exercise at some other time.

I believe writing is like that too. On busy days, I can do fifteen minutes before leaving for work, another half hour stolen on my lunch break, and another fifteen minutes during the commute home on the subway, and that’s as good as one solid hour.

I find it helpful to choose the type of writing I do to suit to the time block I have. At busier times when I can only write in short bursts, I’ll do mini-editing self-assignments or research. When I have longer extended periods, like on a weekend or during a holiday from work, then I might do more generative writing.

Despite all this, there are times when external factors get in our way. For example, we really are just too busy with the work we do to put food on the table. Accept that and be ready to write when your schedule moves on. Also remember that starving yourself to death or being kicked out of your home because you can’t pay the rent is not a good strategy to sustain a writing career.

Maybe we’re suffering emotionally because of the loss of a relative or another life event that leaves us emotionally unavailable to be creative. That’s not writer’s block. That’s a perfectly valid reason to choose not to write. Accept it, process the pain, and be ready to write when your head is clearer.

B) Internal reasons we choose not to write

External factors, with a bit of ingenuity, can usually be solved with some time, planning, and thought. Far more pernicious are the whole host of internal factors that get in our way. Most of these thoughts boil down to some version of, “I’m afraid/worried/concerned that this isn’t good enough,” which is really just shorthand for “I’m afraid/worried/concerned that I’m not good enough.”

It’s understandable. We live in an age when we’re much more focused on product rather than process. We’re not very focused on the joys and rewards of a hard day’s work in the moment, and we’re all too focused on the mythical rewards we imagine the ultimate product of our labors will bring someday in the form of money, awards, recognition, as well as the love and adoration of relatives, friends, and strangers who follow us on social media.

Do we want to write or do we want to have written? Do we write because we love the daily task of engaging with the challenges of choosing just the right word, or because we hope what we write will act as some kind of psychic balm for past hurts in our lives?

As Fran Lebowitz says, “Having been unpopular in high school is not just cause for book publications.”

I often invite my students who are suffering from these internals to take a moment and put their debilitating self-talk under the microscope by putting their thoughts on paper. If any of this sounds like you, give this exercise a try:

Think of a specific moment in your life when you were unable to write (or when you believed that you had “writer’s block”). Answer the following questions about it in short, simple sentences. If you don’t know the answers, offer your best guess.

1. Where were you when you had this feeling of being unable to write (commonly known as “writer’s block”)? When was this moment? What happened right before it, and right afterward? Who was there? What feelings were you experiencing? Were any of them physical feelings (i.e. dizziness or stomach pain)?
2. What would being able to write feel like instead?
3. What color is your writer’s block?
4. Who is your writer’s block?
5. What do you believe stopped you from writing at that moment?
6. What actually stopped you from writing at that moment?
7. What’s the worst thing that could happen if you broke out of “I’m stuck, I can’t write?”
8. What’s the best thing that could happen if you were able to write? Which causes you more fear, the worst thing or the best thing?

There’s always something to write about, even if it’s only our inability to write. Especially if it’s our inability to write. Chances are, if you’re willing to dig deep enough, you’ll find a pretty interesting story underneath that blockage.

But why are you still reading this article? It’s time to get to work!

Aaron Hamburger is the author of the novels Nirvana Is Here and Faith for Beginners as well as the story collection The View from Stalin’s Head, winner of the Rome Prize. His writing has appeared in many venues like The New York Times, The Washington Post, Tin House, O, the Oprah Magazine, and Subtropics. He has taught writing at Columbia University, the George Washington University and the Stonecoast MFA Program.