Writing and Writer's Block: Confessions of a Failed Academic

I never wanted to be a writer. I never dreamt of writing a novel or publishing a collection of short stories. I never imagined myself as an investigative journalist breaking the news of the latest scandal or introducing readers to the intricacies of competitive rabbit breeding. I was content being a reader of novels, short stories and newspaper – and, most of all, knowledge.

I adore knowledge (and really don't care if it's economically useful). I love learning (and chose my university course because I knew next to nothing about the subject). I love a good argument. I read non-fiction for the facts and ideas that they offer. I read whodunits for the opportunity to accompany a police detective or private investigator on their journey of discovery. I write because I am socially awkward and shy. I don't notice when I bore you with my niche interests or when I raise my voice in excitement (although I have been told often enough to know better than to talk about what interests me).

I discovered writing at university. Writing – and in particular the long form essays that German humanities departments favoured pre-Bologna – provided occasion for research and for digging deeper into topics (mostly) of my choosing. Writings offered ways of organising arguments, knowledge, ideas and questions and to make connections between them. And, writing enabled me to communicate with fellow students and lecturers without having to speak up in overcrowded classes. Writing that way used to be enjoyable. It used to be easy too.

I lost first the joy, then the ease and eventually writing itself at another university. Writing a PhD initially provided another occasion for research and for digging deeper into a topic that I had chosen. But, soon after I had come back from fieldwork writing ceased to be a way of organising arguments, knowledge, ideas and questions and to make connections between them. Writing failed me as a means of communication with fellow PhDs and most frustratingly with my supervisor. Instead, writing morphed into a Sisyphean slog and eventually writer's block.

I finished the PhD somehow but I failed at academia. Writing so happens to be central to the job. Write applications for postdocs, lectureships and funding. Write lesson plans, lectures and tutorials, teaching materials and feedback for your students. Finally, write conference papers, articles and books. I still had arguments, knowledge, ideas and questions and some of the connections between them. But, I had lost the ability to put them into words on paper.

How do you tackle a writer's block?

Just write, they say. Only, how do you write if you lack for words, if your words refuse to form sentences and if your sentences resist your attempts to weave them into an argument. How do you write if your words, sentences and arguments escape you before you even had a chance to put pen to paper or fingers to keyboard?

Just write, they say. And, leave me wondering what they tell the athlete with the broken bone or the dancer who lost her sense of balance.

How did I tackle my writer's block?

I didn't. I gave up and reluctantly gave myself a break.

I didn't. I gave up and reluctantly went to the doctors. Best decision I've ever made. Turns out, ease and joy come in the form of small white pills and a daily dose of a hormones that my thyroid is too damaged to produce itself.

Only, then did I do something about the writer's block. Somewhat reluctantly, I joined a creative writing class by the wonderful Clare Wigfall. Second best decision I made. Turns out there are writing techniques that you can learn (and, that also work for when writing non-fiction) and that there is a great freedom in writing creatively (and, that also benefits the writing of non-fiction). Writing that way I rediscovered ease and joy.

I still have arguments, knowledge, ideas and questions and I have just rediscovered writing as a means to organise them and investigate connections between them. Therefore, I do not want to lose that freedom, ease and joy in writing ever again. Even less so, now that I started research for a friend's film project. And, that's where this blog comes in. I finished Clare's course with a small booklet filled with ideas, inspirations and, indeed, the beginnings of one or the other story. But, the truth is that I lack any ambition to publish a novel or even put together a short story collection. Still, I resolved that I would continue writing creatively. And, knowing myself, I will require some outlet to get my act together and polish up some of these fragments.

That, in a nutshell, is the purpose of this blog.