I Haven’t Written a Word of Fiction in Two Months, but It’s Not Writer’s Block

Writer's Block isn't Real. It's You Convincing Yourself Not to Write.

I love the term “writer’s block.” Half of the writers about to read this will hate me, the other half, give or take thirty percent, will understand what I’m saying. Writer’s block isn’t real. It’s what we call the inability to write what we want when we want to write it. It’s making up an excuse for why we’re not writing. It’s blaming this amorphous thing so that we don’t have to take responsibility for what we’re not doing. But the people that believe in writer’s block, or that express the notion that they have or are suffering from writer’s block, haven’t put the effort in. Or at least that’s my opinion. I haven’t written a word of fiction in two months, but it’s not writer’s block. I’ve been busy, plain and simple. I’ve moved homes. I’ve cleaned out garages and pole barns and homes, and I’ve painted and installed trim and fixed air ducts and mowed and line-trimmed acre upon acre of the land those buildings sit on. I’m not complaining. I’m just stating why I haven’t written.

Now, that doesn’t mean I haven’t done something writing-related. Over the last couple of days, I submitted query letters and excerpts to literary agents for two different novels. I’ve researched the agents, obviously, so that takes time as well, as I do it the way you’re supposed to, meaning by researching the actual agents, their interests, their clients, what they’ve recently sold. And I write this blog. But fiction? Not a single word. And that’s okay. It’s a large endeavor, moving from one city to another, and I’ve allowed myself the time to do it without the guilt. Sure, there’s a little bit of guilt there, but I know the second life slows down, I’ll get right back on that horse and knock out another first draft of a novel, and another edit of a novel I’ve already edited a hundred times. And I’ll send out more queries. It’s what writers do. We don’t get writer’s block, and we don’t complain about how we’re not selling books or how difficult it is to get an agent or why it’s so easy for our friends and acquaintances to achieve everything they set out to do. We . . . okay, maybe some of us do. But writer’s block? Nope. And actually, when someone says they have writer’s block, I’ll be honest, it kind of annoys me. Writers write. You’ve put enough time into this thing to understand that writing through the shit is part of the process. I know, for instance, that I’ll never write the book I set out to write. The one that’s as good as (enter your favorite novel or novelist here). I will always want to revise, no matter how good I think a draft is, and once that revision is done, I’ll want to do another one. I’m a writer. I write.

Over the last couple of days, I submitted query letters and excerpts to literary agents for two different novels

--Me. I wrote that.

Now, have I got your blood boiling by the few words I put in there regarding writer’s block? Ask yourself why you’re so mad. Is it because I just don’t understand what you’re going through? (I do). Is it because you’re somehow different than every other writer out there, that you’re somehow special? (You aren’t). Is it because you think I’m just some pretentious writer who thinks I’m better than everyone else? (Nope!). I’ve just been doing this so damn long that I understand how it works, even if I’m not represented by a top agent, even though I haven’t sold a million books, even if I haven’t made the New York Times bestseller list. And if you’ve studied creative writing for more than a few years, and put the ten thousand hours in, and looked at writing as a job rather than some inspiration-driven event that spews out of your fingers into your laptop in one sitting like manna from heaven, you understand what I’m saying. You don’t have to be a paid, professional writer to be a professional writer. You just have to put the work in.

Writer’s block is a “failure of the ego"

-Norman Mailer

There’s nothing greater than that feeling you get when you’re onto something. You know what I mean. That little something that you hear in the street or at a café, at yoga class or at work while you’re eavesdropping on your colleague’s phone call that makes you jot down some notes “for later.” Yeah, Sam, he got caught with her sister. Yeah, her sister! Can you believe it? Or, Did you hear? Betty has congenital heart failure. Yep. Just like her mother. And get this: her brother says it’s because she no longer goes to church. Crazy, huh? That’s all it takes. A word. A sentence. Someone dressed funny. Something sad. And then you sit down at the typewriter or laptop or desktop or eighteenth-century writing table someone sold you for pennies on the dollar and you write. And when you can’t write what you want to write you know what you do? You keep writing. You write blab la blab la bla. Or probably asdf jkl;. Or you dance. Or you do whatever. But YOU WRITE. You don’t make excuses for why you’re not telling us how Sam got caught. You tell us how the church smells like frankincense and old wood, and how old Mrs. Farken never seems to leave the third pew after lighting a few candles for her husband and son who died last year in an avalanche somewhere on the mountain in Gstaad, Switzerland. Whatever you have to do to keep your fingers moving you do. Quitters get “writer’s block”; you don’t. You write.

If You Can't Write, Dance! Or Write Gibberish. Or Read. Or Edit. Just Do What You Must to Get Back to Writing.

Norman Mailer said writer’s block was a “failure of the ego.” Hilary Mantel and others recommend getting away from the desk and engaging in other activities to get the juices flowing. (Hilary Mantel died in 2022, but she said it when she was alive!). Jack London said you must actively pursue inspiration rather than waiting for it. And Anthony Trollope made sure he stuck to a strict schedule so that he produced writing consistently. That’s what my mentor, John Dufresne, taught me, and that’s what I do. It works. I tend to write at least the first draft of one novel a year. During that time I also edit a novel written in previous years. Could be the most recent one; could be the one I started back in 2002. But I work my ass off and no matter the result—no offer by Joe Everyone-Wants-Me-Agent, no three-book deal, no accolades from the Pulitzer committee—I keep on keeping on. I write. Because there is no such thing as writer’s block. Remember that. Tattoo it on your forehead. Do whatever you have to do to keep the words coming down on the page. You’re a writer, aren’t you? Then write. Write!

Drink in Hand. Some Sort of Look of . . . Not Sure. But I'm in Taos, so it Couldn't Have Been That Bad.

Cully Perlman is a novelist, short story writer, blogger, and editor. He can be reached at Cully@novelmasterclass.com