I'm always thinking about writer's block. If I spent more time thinking about other things instead I suppose I would never feel blocked. All I ever need to do is stay alert to the many sources of inspiration that exist to keep the condition at bay. I know this. But one has to work sometimes at being receptive to that inspiration. Daily an idea suggests itself as subject, a theme is developed from it and a mood decided. A few thought drafts as to how it might be structured, then, it either makes it as post, or it dosen't. When it dosen't it's because it fails in some way to seem sufficiently worth it. Worth the effort to write it. Worth the effort to read it. Worthy of being born.
If my creative thoughts seem determined to be bound and chained as if in some self-imposed mind dungeon. If they refuse to budge, and are unwilling to shake off the shackles and take flight to allow the words and the emotions to connect. I cannot produce.
But all is not lost. A visit to that incomparable quote finder at Whiskey River who always has something up his sleeve or stored away is sure to help loosen those bindings. Take a look at this on the subject of WB and weep at the power of the words:
by Helen Nicholson
If I dared write
I would carve my words from a rock;
scrape a line with a flint
sparking off malachite,
or smell the sulfur linger from a struck match
as I flare what I feel to the world.
I would give you cadences Cuillin-sharp
or rolling as the ocean;
line breaks dangerous as a
assonance subtle as the dying wind.
I would write of tears and dissolve your page.
I would write of drought
and you would scrape the dust from your hands.
The tinder of my parched heart
would spark forest fires.
I would growl a word
and you would hear the thunder.