The blinking cursor can feel like a bully. It can freeze the very words in your brain, spark high anxiety, and make you feel like you’ve never written a useful word in your life.
We have all sat there, staring it down, frantically struggling to force words onto the screen because we feel like we’re running out of time. But I have learned the hard way that you can’t chase inspiration; you have to invite it to catch up to you. If you want to cure writer’s block for good, the secret isn’t writing faster—it’s stopping completely.
When I stop and listen, the words always come as long as I just give them time.
I used to live my life at a sprint. What comes next? I gotta catch up. Must get ahead. An invisible force was chasing me through life.
That frantic energy infused my writing, and it showed. These days, I take a different approach and step away from the screen. I walk briskly through the house, trot up and down the stairs a few times, or just gaze out the window and reflect on what I’m seeing.
What did Einstein teach me about writer’s block?
Oddly, Albert Einstein taught me this technique. When he was young and living in Zurich, wrestling with the complexities of the theory of relativity, he didn’t try to multitask. He made a purposeful decision to isolate himself. He would shelter himself from his hectic everyday life, staying inside his apartment alone, sometimes for days at a time, just to think deeply and silently. He disconnected from daily concerns to let his ideas flow freely, then reconnected to compile and refine them.
I decided to emulate his method. No, I don’t have the luxury of holing myself up in a Swiss apartment for days on end without taking a peek at the real world. But I can map out and nurture my own pockets of silence. With the phone tucked away, devices powered down, and the door closed, I can ponder an idea running through my head and allow it to spin out like spider’s silk. Or, I might retrieve an old concept I never pursued. If new ideas aren’t within reach, I use this time to refine a piece that isn’t sitting right—fixing the last line of a poem, deepening a flat character, or reworking a stale theme.
You should try it.
Exercises like this open my thinking. It is amazing how often something entirely new crops up while I am busy mulling over old stuff. If all else fails, I simply pause and let in the vastness of the universe. I close my eyes, let go of the controls, and drift without rules.
Boom—the “Aha!” moment arrives.
As Louis L’Amour said, “The water does not flow until the faucet is turned on.” For me, silence activates that faucet.
How does this magic happen?
There are many ways to access this meditative state, but we each have to find our own rhythm. I have experimented with time, place, and attitude, and I know it is easier for me to slow down my thinking when I am alone and quiet. I have to find my inner self and detach from the pressures of deadlines.
It might be early morning when the world is hushed and a cup of tea comforts me. It might be late in the evening when I’m preparing for sleep. Sometimes it happens when I’m already in bed, drifting off and sensing a dream, or trying to remember something I saw during the day. I try to be in touch with my environment—being aware of sounds and sensations but allowing those details to float by without interfering.
When I do this, I am always surprised by where my mind takes me. A startling idea, or a web of connected ideas, can materialize and offer a cure for the block. There is a spark, and I feel invigorated, alive, and bright. Right then, I grab a pen and notepad to jot down whatever snippets come.
Slow down and find your inspiration
Whether we write, draw, raise children, or build high-rises, we can benefit from stopping, stepping back from the daily grind, and finding our own quiet space. We collect ideas and inspirations as we move through our daily activities—a snipped headline, a clipped image, a comment overheard in a crowd. Those are the jumping-off places that develop into stories, but it is the calm musings of a quiet mind that can bring us the real joy of writing and creativity. It shouldn’t be a struggle fueled by frustration.
I practice this quiet exploration as consistently as I can, tuning in to my inner writer and settling comfortably into my personal process. Then, I reap the benefits: my creativity brings me the gift of words. Sometimes, I am amazed by how good they are. You should try it.
I needed this today.
Returning to a writer's world is not easy after letting it go for two months while teaching. I've been trying to think how I made it this far into my novel and have really thought about chunking it for lack of talent.
But it's a story I want to tell. And I realize that I am pulling the oldest trick in my doubting Thomas book and blaming the "block" on my reluctance to believe in the story.
Maryan to the rescue. Thank you - again!
I wholehearted agree with this inner reflection process. It's been my primary means of finding interesting threads to explore for most of my life. Also, an interesting thing happened this year with finding a community of resonant individuals. I have found conversation with the right people to be effortlessly effective for stumbling onto worthwhile writing ideas. Do you have any of the same experience with this? Currently I'm finding that a cycling rhythm between going inward and opening outward to conversation works fantastically to keep an engaging flow of thinking alive. It's ordinary, modern-day, tasked-based rumination that's the flat zone.