Writer's Block

As you may have noticed, I have not published a blog post in nearly a month now. For most people this is not out of the ordinary in the least... then again, I am not exactly "most people." Thinking about why I have been unable to write these past few weeks has had a peculiar effect on my writing.

I have begun to pay too much attention to my form, to my ability not just to write my thoughts but to write them down well, and I've stopped just writing and am beginning to feel this self-induced pressure to produce polished pieces to my readers which, let's face it, are a select bunch. The day I felt overwhelmed by that pressure was the day I lost my freedom to just write. Knowing I have a limited emotional wellspring from which to draw has made me stingy with my words. While writing was my emancipation months ago, expecting myself to be good at it has slapped on a new type of fetter, one whose key I have not yet found... I can't even tell you how many times I've clicked the "new post" button only to discard it minutes later. It's like I've transformed from Emma Thompson's character in "Nanny McPhee" to the author she plays in "Stranger Than Fiction." Sweet Jesus.

This is where I blame my OCD tendencies coupled with an insistence on perfection (my all-purpose excuse) but I do feel that I have transferred them to my writing, where each word must be the perfect choice for the moment. Each word must be precise, not be repetitive, mundane, or, God forbid, average. If I'm not careful, I'll begin counting my words, sorting them into neat little piles of nouns, verbs and dangling participles and storing them in jars in my closet.

Beyond this increasingly disturbing resemblance to Melvin Udall (I relate to many characters in movies) I've also found that the harder I strive to make my thoughts clear, to try to explain my thought process to others that don't know me, the harder it has become for me to actually make a point. Because I am so afraid that I will face scrutiny and be found lacking, I am not able to write anything indisputable enough.

Are these just old insecurities rearing their ugly heads (my personal emotional Chimera) or have I, accustomed to being argued with and constantly frustrated by my own inadequacies, grown an entirely new, all-purpose one? Am I over-analyzing again, or is this a necessary thought process? Is it just the mechanical efficiency expert in me wishing I could parse my thought process down to a concrete algorithm, one that could be applied to anything I am trying to say? If only I could use it as a litmus test before even trying so that I don't feel like I have to try so damn hard explaining.

As usual, I end up with more questions than I began with, compliments of the complicated brain of Bridget Harman. All I really was trying to do was to explain myself and instead ended up creating a little job security for my inner shrink.