Special . . . Writer’s Block

“I don't believe in writers' block. Do doctors have 'doctors block?' Do plumbers have 'plumbers' block?’ No. We all have days when we don't feel like working, but why do writers turn that into something so damn special by giving it a faintly romantic name.”

(Larry Kahaner)

“Writer’s block: When your imaginary friends won’t talk to you.”

(Anonymous)

I like Larry Kahaner’s quote about “writer’s block”.  In his mind and words, there is no such thing as “writer’s block” . . . it is just a fancy romantic name that writers give when they just don’t feel like writing.  I appreciate the fact that he points out that other careers and professions do not have “blocks” that keep them from doing their work . . . and, I am thankful that they do not.  I am grateful that I have not gone to my doctor’s office when sick and been greeted by a nurse telling me that the doctor is out due to a “doctor’s block”.  As far as Kahaner, a professional writer and author, is concerned, “writer’s block” is just a fancy way of saying “I don’t feel like writing.”

I mention this because I have used the excuse for the past couple of months as my writing output has dropped significantly on my blog . . . only nine blogs in the last two months.  When I started blogging way back in April of 2011, my goal was to write ten blogs a month.  In the 46 months since I have started blogging I have average 9.5 blogs per month . . . I have written an average of four sermons per month in that time . . . and, I have written four newsletter columns per month.  In those 46 months I have written at least 17 pieces of writing.  Of course this does not count any of the other writing that I do for special services like holy day services, funerals and weddings, and community speaking engagements.  I would suspect that if I throw those into the equation, I write close to 20 pieces of writing a month since I started way back there in April of 2012.  Not quite a sign of “writer’s block” . . . but, ONLY nine pieces in the past two months on my blog . . . it feels like “writer’s block”!

I’d like to blame it on that romantic sounding idea of “writer’s block”, but the truth might be closer to “writer’s fatigue” . . . reality says that I have been pretty productive over the past 46 months putting out writing.  I do most of my writing for my blog in the evening after a long day at work . . . usually a two-hour period after supper and before going to bed.  Much of the time I have been dragging butt and not really wanting to wrack my brain for cute and clever or deep and riveting things to write . . . I just tired.  It is not a matter of not wanting to write . . . I am tired.  Yet, the truth of the matter is that I have written when I could barely keep my eyes open because I was so tired . . . no, it is not tiredness that has created my recent “writer’s block”.  The fact is . . . well, the fact is that I just haven’t had the inspiration to write . . . I haven’t had anything that piqued my interest in putting words onto the page.  Isn’t that the usual definition of “writer’s block”?

Maybe Anonymous has it right . . . my imaginary friend quit talking to me.  I miss my friend . . . my muse.  But, talk like that will get a person into trouble . . . get an appointment to be measured for a special white jacket with extra-long sleeves . . . or at least funny looks.  As an introvert I have never had need for imaginary friends because I find myself too darn interesting for my own good . . . I am my best friend.  I talk to myself all the time . . . just not out loud (except in the car when driving the commute back and forth from the big city for work—usually quite a profane conversation at that).  Nope, it is not the imaginary friend stonewalling me . . . it is not that sort of “writer’s block”.  Again, I just have not had the “ideas” . . . the topics or subjects have not been flowing freely.  One more time, isn’t that a part of what writers describe as being “writer’s block”?

I don’t know.

I have not had much difficulty cranking out a weekly sermon . . . and, some of them have been quite good in my opinion lately.  Nor have I had much difficulty in writing a weekly column for the church newsletter . . . those, well those are not quite at the inspirational level as the sermons . . .but, they are words on a page!  It just seems that I have hit a rut when it comes to the blog and posting something on it.  It has been nearly two weeks since I last posted!  It has got to be “writer’s block”!

It is not a matter of being lazy and not wanting to write.  I want to write, but I also want to have something to say.  Others have suggested that “writer’s block” is a matter of not wanting to be criticized by others for what is written.  I can assure you that I really do not care what others think . . . everyone has a right to his or her opinion.  There have been times that I have been criticized for what I have written, but it never stopped me from writing . . . after all, I am a middle-aged male who embraces the myth that the older I get the better I was . . . I am a legend in my own mind and nothing anyone else says about it really matters.  I write for myself and my children (My children who will get to sort through all of this crap when I die.).  Nah, this is not a “writer’s block” based on fear . . . I am too ignorant to be scared.

Author Charles Bukowski states: “Writing about a writer’s block is better than not writing at all.”  So . . . that is what I am doing.  I am writing about “writer’s block”.  All writers eventually do.  It is a rite of passage . . . a medal of honor . . . a kick-starter for getting back into the writer’s saddle.  Besides, writing is a discipline.  As a discipline it must be practiced, and for a writer that means writing.  Most of the writers I admire—like Ann LaMott—state that you have to write, write, and write even more.  It does not matter whether it is good or bad, you have to write . . . it is a discipline.  You write even it is something as mundane as “writer’s block”.  You write . . . good or bad.  That is probably why author/artist Dave Horowitz said: “To get over artist’s block, make shitty art.”  You will eventually get back into the groove.  Besides, if I had an imaginary friend, that is what my friend would tell me . . . write!

Despite my frustration with this period of “writer’s block”, I have not been complacent in doing nothing.  I have been reading a lot of books . . . to be a good writer one must read a lot of books.  Books provide starting points.  I have been silent . . . out of silence comes ideas.  Ideas are coming . . . slowly, but surely . . . ideas are coming.  I have started keeping a notebook for the ideas that have been popping into my mind and heart lately.  Again, these are the seeds for writing.  I have several ideas that are brewing in the rock garden I call my mind . . . there is the idea of carrying on the family name as we are expecting our first grandson from our youngest son and his wife in July . . . there is the continuing story of the oldest—the Prodigal—moving out of the house into an apartment . . . there is the prospect of our other son moving out in the next couple of months into his own apartment despite his disability . . . there are a few things I want to write about death as a friend has started a new blog focusing on death . . . and, there is always the wonderful nine months of the year they call “winter” in Montana . . . or, maybe even another post on “writer’s block”.

The inspiration is slowly trickling in.  Thank goodness I do not write for a living.  If I wrote for a living I doubt if I would have “writer’s block” . . . writer’s don’t have “writer’s block” because they have mortgages to pay . . . amazing what a little financial motivation does for “writer’s block”.  Whatever this has been . . . laziness . . . tiredness . . . fear . . . or lack of motivation . . . I can see the light at the end of the tunnel leading out of the darkness.  My only hope is that it is not an approaching train!  Getting smacked by a train would definitely create a bad case of “writer’s block”!  I feel my “second wind” coming . . . watch out world!  The irreverent Reverend is writing again!  Scary . . . isn’t it?

Time Out!

It’s before six o’clock in the morning and I am driving down the highway towards the big city and another day of work at the university . . . it feels like I have been doing this routine for forever.  In my mind I am thinking that this is like the zillionth day in a row that I have either been at work at the university or the church . . . like I haven’t seen a day off for forever.  It has been a long week as I have worked at fifty percent of my job at the university doing all the things associated with professional development for educators that takes a full-time job; and, another fifty percent doing hearing rescreening for students in rural schools spread out all over the kingdom come of the vast state of Montana  . . . nearly six hundred miles in two days in locations like Lavina, Rye Grass, Grass Range, Roy, and Winnett . . . some of the booming metropolises of this great state looking into waxy ears and asking the age old audiological question: “Can you hear me now?”  Or is it a cell phone commercial?  Whatever . . . it has been a long week . . . an even longer six weeks.  I need a “time out”.

At least that is what was going through my mind as driving through the darkness and listening to John Prine sing about Jesus and his missing years . . . a “time out” period in the life of Jesus that happened between the ages of twelve and thirty.  I was also thinking about the fact that in those six weeks we as a family we have endured . . . one stolen car, one run in with a deer that crunched another car, a truck that needed major (and, expense) repairs, the wife going off for nearly ten days on a religious adventure, the stolen car being found, and the wife going off for another week to see and celebrate her mother’s 86^th birthday in Kentucky . . . just a few of the adventures that marked the past month and a half.  It has been stated that “bad stuff” happens in threes . . . well, I guess the darn thing got stuck and kept turning over and over as we easily passed the three level early in this time period.  That is a myth . . . for us Keeners, when it rains it pours.  I need a “time out”.

That’s what I thought as I neared the big city on the way to work this morning . . . I could use a “time out”.

I wanted to stop the truck, jump out, and throw my hands together in the ultimate sign of a “t” notating “time out”.  Of course in the downtown part of the big city that might be construed as a little on the strange side at that time of the morning . . . like maybe I had had a little too much to drink the night before . . . or that my medication had worn off . . . or that I had lost my marbles . . . anything but normal.  I imagine that if I had done that I would have scored a “time out”, but I really do not think that I would have enjoyed the dinner jacket with the extra-long sleeves or the padded room it would have gotten me.  So, despite my strong urge to do exactly that, I remained in my truck.

I am not quite sure why none of us is given a certain number of “time outs” that we can use over a lifetime when things feel as if they are getting out of hand.  In sports, teams are given a certain number of “time outs” that can be used for a variety of reasons . . . one of the biggest being when things seem to be getting out of hand and the team needs a “time out” to re-think, regroup, and calm down.  Sports are just a microcosm of life being played out on the field or court.  Each team is given a certain number . . . so, why not life?  Why can’t any of us have the ability to call a “time out” whenever life seems to be getting out of hand . . . when we are tired . . . when we need to regroup and reorganize . . . when we are frustrated . . . when we just need to catch our breath?  I could use one right about now in my life . . . a “time out”?

I imagine that there are those of you out there thinking to yourselves, “Boy, this guy sure whines a lot!” That you are wondering what in the world this guy is complaining about . . . adults get “time outs” all of the time.  Adults get day off from work.  Adult get vacations.  Adults get holidays.  Aren’t those “time outs”?  Yes, they are . . . when you get them.  Remember, I said it has been over six weeks since I have not worked every single day either in my university or church job.  As much as I love them . . . I need a break!

Usually with my “time off” I do a couple of things . . . I go critter creeping . . . I take lots of pictures . . . and, I write.  Anyone who follows me on Facebook or this blog knows that there have been few pictures and even fewer posts on the blog.  I haven’t had time . . . or, when I did have the time, the old easy chair or bed was calling my name . . . I was tired!  A “tired” John is not a pleasant person to be around . . . I get grumpy . . . easily frustrated which leads to more grumpiness . . . and, it has made the wife—more than once—threaten me with a whole different sort of “time out” that I hadn’t experienced since I was in grade school.  The scary thing about it is that I actually considered it.

Yeah, I know . . . why not just bite the bullet, take the “time out” and damn the consequences?  Well, I like being able to make payments on the house’s mortgage.  I enjoy being able to pay the other bills.  I appreciate my benefits at the university.  I like both of my jobs as there are good people at both.  I enjoy the church and the adventures it offers.  Both put money in the bank.  I like to eat.  I like being able to have Internet so I can blog and post pictures.  Without my jobs . . . well, without my jobs, I couldn’t do a whole bunch whether I had the time or not.  So, I bite the bullet and keep on chugging away.

In my chugging away I dream . . . I dream on while driving in the darkness of an early morning in Montana . . . I dream of “time outs”.  I dream of jumping up in the middle of a meeting at the university, yelling, “Time out!” Who cares if my fellow co-workers think I have lost a few marbles . . . it would just affirm what they are already thinking.  I dream of hopping out of my car at the stoplight, doing a quit run around the truck, while yelling, “Time out!  Time out!”  I realize that the other commuters will think that I work for the Post Office.   I dream . . .

Winter has been knocking on the door of autumn lately and we haven’t even “officially” enter into the season of fall.  There are not a whole bunch of days left to pause and enjoy the beauty of this transition of seasons . . . the leaves are turning, snow is tipping the peaks of the mountains, and highway construction crews are hurrying to get what the work done before the first snow flies . . . whatever the signs, there is not a whole bunch of time before winter settles in.  We have been experiencing beautiful weather here in Montana over the past week . . . weather that should be appreciated while it is still here.  It only adds to the need for a “time out”.

Be still and know.

Time out!

If I had known that being an adult would rob me of the adventure of life, I think I would have called a “time out” a long, long time ago.  I would have called “time out”, wandered off, found a tree to lean against, and witness the beauty of life passing me by.  I would have sat next to a creek and listened to the water babbling and rushing by . . . watch a hawk soar in the sky . . . listen to the song birds sing . . . and, wondered . . . wondered at the awesomeness of it all.  I would have skipped rocks across a pond . . . built forts out of blankets in the living room . . . smelled the aroma of fresh baked cookies cooling in the kitchen.  I would have listened to the laughter of children . . . the breeze in the air.  I would have done a lot of things, but adulthood got in the way.

That little kid within me is banging on the door . . . wanting to get out; but, life is drowning out the sound of freedom and adventure and life.  I am not sure how long that little kid will keep knocking on the door.  I can hear it . . . especially in the darkness of an early morning commute.  I think that it is about time . . . before it is too late.

Time out!  A person has got to live if he or she wants to make it to the finish line.  Time out!

Tired

“Only in the darkness can you see the stars.”

(Martin Luther King Jr.)

Tired.

That sums it up . . . I am tired.  After several weeks of short nights dealing with our son’s seizures . . . I am tired.  After several days of having to leave work early to deal or son’s seizures . . . I am tired.  After sitting in the hospital emergency for several hours dealing with doctors about our son’s seizures . . . I am tired.  I am tired of the sleepless nights . . . the frightening screams . . . the seizure wracking paralyze . . . the sympathy of medical people who have no answers . . . have no cures.  I am tired of this nightmare that never seems to end after more than nineteen years.  Yeah, think that sums it up . . . I am tired.  It never changes.

A friend of mine calls it SSDD . . . Same Sh**Different Day.  At least that is what she posted on her Facebook page this evening when she shared the news about her daughter’s appointment at a regional hospital with specialists to deal with a chronic condition.  The news was not good . . . basically the daughter was told that there was nothing that could be done at this time . . . told that she had already been seen by the best and if they couldn’t help, why in the world did she think that they (the new medical team) could . . . basically she was told to grin and bear it . . . nothing was going to change.  It really was not the news that she or her family or friends wanted to hear.  Kind of took the hope right out of that last balloon that they had found.  It sucked . . . and, from the post on Facebook, I think they are all tired.

Chronic illnesses and conditions are tiresome.  Tiresome for the person having to endure them . . . tiresome for the people who love and take care of them.  It is not good for people to get tired.  When people get tired they easily get frustrated . . . they easily anger . . . they easily give up hope.  Giving up hope is the worse.  When hope is gone . . . what else is there?

I feel for my friend, her daughter, and all those who have been circling their lives with prayer and hope . . . and, now they are tired.  They prayed . . . but did not receive the healing, cure, or even a reduction in pain.  They sought expert opinion . . . and the medical experts had no answers or solutions.  They felt patronized as they left the hospital and wished “good luck” . . . and like they were saying, “Don’t let the door hit you in the butt when you leave.”  Chronic illness is a tiresome roller coaster and now they feel as if they derailed.  Knowing this friend, there was resignation in her post . . . there was tiredness . . . a loss of hope.

Yes, I feel for my friend.  I know what she feels because I too have been tired and hopeless . . . just like now.  I have watched my number three child, my number two son, deal with this crippling disability for nearly nineteen years.  I have witnessed how the Epilepsy has robbed him of a normal life.  I have seen how it has made him a social outcast and ignored or even spurned by a lot of the world around him . . . seen as valueless.  I have sat beside him as he cried and mourned that his life was not like all the other people who were his age . . . cried and mourned that he cannot see a life like his siblings in the future . . . a wife, children.  I have seen him get up for new treatments, and I have seen him blown out of the water when they produced nothing but wasted time.  Up the roller coaster, down the roller coaster . . . off the tracks . . . get up and do it again.  It is tiresome.

I have often wondered about whether or not there is some hidden limit on how many times a person can go up and down this emotional roller coaster before enough is enough.  Is it a couple of times?  Is it a thousand times?  A million?  Well, I imagine that our son, my wife, family, and I have hit those peaks a couple of times . . . and, what do others tell us . . . hang in there . . . it will get better . . . we are praying for you.  Nice platitudes, but it does nothing to ease the tiredness . . . nothing to restore the hope.

Anyone who deals with a chronic illness or disabilities knows the routine well . . . anyone who loves and cares for a person with a chronic illness or disability knows the routines well . . . up and down, all around, and do it all over again . . . over and over.  They know all the pat answers . . . all the nice words of comfort . . . all the routines of those around them who cannot help.  They have been angry at God . . . angry at the doctors . . . angry at each other . . . and, just plain angry.  God doesn’t seem to care or help . . . doctors “practice” medicine and really are only guessing at what might help . . . the world seems small and the people in it are irritating even though we love them . . . and, in the tiredness there is anger.  When the anger ends . . . hope is lost.

I have spent a life time on this roller coaster.  I have witnessed the lives of my two brothers who have disabilities . . . over fifty-some years now.  I have witnessed it in the life of my son as he battles Epilepsy.  I have seen it in the lives of the people I have served as a minister for over thirty-some years.  I have seen it in the lives of friends.  I have railed against God . . . and, I have railed with God.  I have cried with loved ones . . . and I have yelled at loved ones.  I have been angry at the world . . . and, angry with the world.  I have been tired . . . and, I have given up hope.

My mother lived a hard life.  She understood that life is not easy . . . that life is difficult.  She struggled with me through some difficult times in my life.  I will always remember her words to me in those times of struggle . . . “This too shall pass.” 

“This too shall pass.”

She was right.  When it was darkest . . . the stars came out.  Here in Montana I only have to step out on the back porch and look to the heavens to see millions upon millions of stars piercing the darkness.  Surprisingly, I find hope there in the darkness as the stars sparkle in the sky.  There is hope . . . there is always hope.  Tonight, before I go to bed, I will step out onto the porch, look to the heavens, and survey the vastness of God’s glorious touch to witness the stars.  I will breathe deeply of the cool nighttime air . . . close my eyes . . . and whisper, “Okay, God . . . one more time.”  Then tomorrow I will get up and do it all over again.  Yeah, my friend calls it SSDD . . . maybe it is the thin thread of hope . . . the spark to start the fire going one more time.  I don’t know . . .

To my friend . . . to all those who carry this weight . . . I know your pain, your tiredness, your hopelessness.  I also know, that you have seen the stars and that there is always hope.  It may not seem like it right at this moment . . . but this too will pass.  No, not the chronic illness or disability, but this feeling of hopelessness.   Those stars that pierce the darkness are symbolic of the gifts of God’s presence that pierce the darkness of this roller coaster journey.  They are all around . . . they may not know what to say or do . . . but they care and surround all of us with their love and prayers.  They pierce the darkness of our world.  There is hope . . . always hope.  I know that you, my friend, will get up and do it all over again.  Why? Because we care . . . because we love . . . and, because we do have hope.  God hasn’t abandon us, so why should we abandon God?

Yeah, I am tired . . . but “this too shall pass.”

Hope . . . what a strange and terrifying trip!