Step out of Reality and into my world of Fantasy here at The Dragon's Cottage.
One morning, an author plagued by a rather severe case of writer's block answered a random prompt. The author cringed after reading it because you could tell that they had forced the words out.
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The author looked over everything they had written, their fingers resting lightly over the keyboard. Nothing. There was nothing more that they wanted to say. Their attempt to create a short story was sloppy and haphazard no doubt, but they couldn't pinpoint where or even how to make it flow better. With a resigned sigh, the author clicked submit.
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This one was a failure as well. Maybe the next activity would help them. The author moved on to a 'What would your character say?', a word association game followed by their all-time favorite, 'Make a Six-Word Story' in an attempt to get some form of inspiration or insight for a story. However, throughout all of the games and exercises, the author's mind kept drifting back to that first prompt.
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The author knew that they could have done better but just couldn't find it in themself to care. Frustrated, the author slumped over their desk to indulge in a good sulk. They had written, erased, and rewritten until they thought that their head was going to explode. So, in order to save their poor skull from becoming a soup bowl, the author did their best to put it out of mind.
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That nagging sensation of wrongness itched at the back of the author's mind though. After tossing and turning sleeplessly for hours, the author got up an unreasonable hour of the morning, pulled up the sloppily written piece, and glared at the cause of their OCDness. It was irrational. There was no point. The wall was just not coming down no matter what. With a bang, the author's head hit the desk and they groaned in aggravation. How was this fair!
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That itching feeling started up again, no no no that was not it as the author overturned dozens of possibilities in their mind. Wait a second why were they just overturning these possibilities? Sure some of them were not a good fit, but the others. Why was that? Was it because the author thought that no one would like it or was it because they were searching for perfection when they were just learning to walk? That didn't make any sense whatsoever.
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The author shot up straight, their forehead red from the forceful yet age-old thought-motivation technique. Why were they limiting themselves when this was their world, their characters, their story? That just didn't make any sense. So what if others didn't like what they had written. That was ok. They were not the target audience.
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The author turned on their music, put fingers to the keyboard, and with a maniacal grin, they began to write- er type. Hours went by, with brief pauses to feed and wrangle the hoard, caffeine up, and give scritches to fluffy de-stressors. It wasn't until the sun was setting that author, finally hit publish and flopped bonelessly back in their chair with a satisfied smirk. It was done! The block was gone! They were freeeeeeeee!
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The block for the author had been the fear of 'what if'. What if the reader didn't like it? What if they didn't understand it? What if? What if? What if!
Blah! So what if they didn't like it. The author loved this crazy and wacky world of theirs, and that was all that mattered.
