My Break-Up With Writer's Block

Dear Writer‘s Block,

It’s not you, it’s me. I can’t even begin to elucidate how terribly full of remorse I am. I’m sorry but this is the end of the road for us. I know we’ve had some fun times together, like blaring my music trying to figure out what to compose for hours at a time. I'd like to say it's been good and that I loved you but I think I just loved the idea of running away to refrain from doing my work instead of sitting down at the keyboard. That was fun, but too much of a good thing gets old. I regret to inform you, I’ve changed in many different senses. These days, I prefer to write without interruptions such as losing train of thought.

You know what? I take what I said back. It is you! You’re constantly restraining my abilities. You stress me out so much sometimes I can’t do anything other than stare at blank pages. I panic every time you come around. I feel like when you’re near me, I’m persistently checking and deleting work that was perfectly acceptable. You make me feel inferior to other writers; like I’m the only one you ever visit. From time to time, I even find myself not being able to write a coherent sentence for up to five minutes at a time. You tend to hinder my creativity and obstruct the capability of my imagination. You stifle my originality.

Remember the time in seventh grade when I was supposed to write for the Young Writer’s Contest, but you distracted me, so I didn’t get my paper in on time? That could have been my big break! It could have been my chance to shine, but you were too jealous to let me compile my work of art that could have very well won me the reputation of the best young writer in Mingo County! Well, now it’s time for my revenge! This time, I’ll be rid of your dreadful disruptions and I will capture the hearts of all my readers. This time, I’m determined.

I know without you I can accomplish so many great things. This stand I’m taking is going to inspire people all around the world to rise against you. There is a famous novel somewhere inside me bursting to escape. I could become even more famous than Jane Austen or J.K. Rowling if I can simply escape from you. I don’t have the slightest insight of why I have tolerated your nonsense for so long.

This is it for us. It’s over. I’m sure I’m not the only one who has suffered from your interferences, but if I must, I will be the one to break it off. You’ve been nothing but a nuisance. And with that said, I’m out of here. I took my pen and spiral notebook. I don’t want anything else. You can keep your self-doubt, puttering, and mundane activities. I can’t use them anymore. They only inhibited me anyway.

Good Riddance,
Paige