It's downpouring. Rain is pelting the glass and I'm feeling the infamous writer's "resistance" for the first time in a pretty long time.
I spent the morning plowing through tasks and that's a very different head-space than one that can collect words on the page—digital or otherwise. Usually I'm able to toggle between them pretty successfully but, at the moment, I'm sitting at my desk clicking through tabs much like a return trip to the fridge after walking away empty-handed the first time.
Looking around, my eyes land on Isobel on the other side of my office. She's set up at the analog desk, working on her laptop with a typewriter right next to her. I smirk, but it fades quickly when I realize that she's locked-in to whatever she's working on and I'm, well... not.
What is with me today??
After a shake of the head and a sigh, I slide my chair back and cross the room. If I can't focus, I'm not just going to sit there. I've got my to-do list, I used the timer; now, I just need to switch things up and try to shake something loose. So, having found what I was looking for, I pull the book from my shelf and go sit in my chair by the window. When I feel stuck as a writer, I like revisiting some of my favorites. It's almost like I search for the mood I want, and try to absorb it. Today, that's My Friends by Fredrik Backman. I hadn't really given it much thought before grabbing it, so now I'm listening to the rain wail against the glass and I'm wondering why—why this book? Why today?
I tilt my head to the right. I feel the left side of my neck tighten and I'm waiting for the popping crACK I hope will follow. I've been doing a lot of work on theunobstructed.com lately and, while going through older posts of mine, I keep finding writing that sounds and feels like me, which is good, but there's just so many different shapes and structures. Maybe it's that I'm too in my head...
It feels like I have the YIPS ok?
Like a baseball player who's overthinking the mechanics of their swing and who can't seem to make it feel like it's supposed to, let along make contact with a pitch. So, today I just want to feel what it's supposed to feel like and Fredrik Backman's way of writing does that for me. He writes like I think. When I read his work, it feels frictionless. There's no need for me to construct scenes, decipher meaning, or connect the dots; it just happens.
Today, after finding myself all tangled up at my desk, I'm sitting by the window where the rain's still peppering the glass, and I just want to feel what "good" looks like.
And not think about it.
How do you reset when you get jammed-up?
onward.
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