Experiencing writer’s block after writing an 800-word long essay is a common complaint. Most of my friends suffer really chronically, I must say. Few take it as a disease, a dreadful, terminal ailment, and will go to any length to not look so defeated by their ballpoints, so undermined by the ghost of their limbo present. That momentary jerk washes all the enthusiasm of the writer down, almost kills the spirit from writing anymore. Once, I found a friend frantically hammering her pen onto the display board hung above the table on the adjoining wall, write a verse of a century old heartbreak, poke orange-peels with pen caps and make airplanes out of the heavily scribbled pages. All that definitely did not make her happy. I had to stash in my pocket a few specimen that her disenchanted soul had created. From writing an article called “why I like Austen.” for a website, I was surprised to see a woman who used flip out whenever asked to take credit from the widest poetic license and try her hand at poetry, write a subliminal piece of verse subconsciously (she had to subconscious while throwing pens at perfect parabola all about the room).

Writer’s block can make one mad.

But that must not deter one from writing. It’s not as hard as the physics of petroleum science, but yes, more painstaking than knitting a sweater for a bubbly ten-year-old girl. Like facing “Bright Pink!”, “NO. Maybe coral?”, “can we add green and yellow here?” to “Eh, you forgot to add a hoodie! :/” and all that cupcake cream, a piece of writing needs patience. Just as the right pins and the yarn make the knitting as effortless as floating on water, the right idea does the wonder. If writing is all about putting down in words about the neurons’ prom night inside your head, it’s more about letting those neurons free for a moment and rely on whichever way they go.


Now, without her permission, which I will never get, probably I cannot show here my friend’s emotional

drifts through her moment of writer’s block. It’s just a reminder that we’re all little driblets of poetry, found

far from the fountain of words.

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