I hear people talking about writer’s block, and they say things like “I just can’t get a single word written! I try and I try, and nothing comes out!” This is a totally foreign concept to me, to tell the truth. I’m always writing; the problem is that sometimes it’s only in my head.
I always have some kind of writing going on in my head. Perhaps it’s a brilliant and scintillating critique of something I’ve read, or the next scene for some current project, or just a bit of dialog between some of the unwritten characters that live in here with me, but I’m always writing something, inside my head. I could put it down on paper if I wanted to. But I go through occasional periods when I simply don’t want to.
I’m driving down the road somewhere, and the characters from my current novel all get together and begin to block out the next couple of scenes like a play cast in the very early stages of rehearsal, and they get it all right, and I say to myself “Ok, self, when you get home, write that down! It’s perfect!” So I get home, fire up the laptop, and play Undiscovered Realms for an hour.
Or I’m lying in bed trying to sleep, and the perfect discourse on why character-voiced narrative is so much better than a more distant third-person POV, and I say “Listen to me now! Get up and write this down! It’s perfect!” and I roll over and go to sleep.
It’s not that I can’t, it’s just that I can’t be bothered.
By the way:
Fleas have been known to jump up to 13 inches, about 200 times the length of their own bodies.