Oh Writer's Block, Thou Art a Black Dog from Hell

What are you supposed to do when the inspiration just sort of...stops?

From March to December 2010, I wrote about 250 poems. That's an average of 27.77777778 poems per month--just shy of a poem a day. We had a good run, me and poetry. This creative burst came after years of neglecting poetry in the wake of endless academic papers, lesson plans, reports, and email. I never made that choice consciously, to stop writing poetry--but being a good little student and careerist, poetry seemed like a selfish indulgence.

But then I attended a writers conference, my first, and I arrived ready to go to battle: with two fully-groomed non-fiction book proposals, business cards, a binder of writing samples, and my best I'm-a-serious-but-hip-writer-glasses a la Jonathan Franzen. I had a couple of promising bites for my book proposals, but it was the poetry that stood out the most for the editors I met, particularly one who was kind enough to actually sit and talk shop for an entire hour. My poetry? But those were the writing samples I had shoved in the binder at the last minute to show "range." I was nominated for the conference poetry award, and while I didn't win, it was an awakening of sorts. It reminded me of who my first love was, and had always been. That was the beginning of our love affair.

Luckily poetry had not divorced me in favor of someone who took her more seriously over the years.

And now, nearly a year after that fateful conference, I find myself writing blog entries during my hallowed poetry time. Every time I've tried to put any poems down the last 7 weeks or so, I've hated them. Hated them. They've felt forced/trite/too-overworked/too aware of themselves/too you're a sad woman with an English degree stop kidding yourself.

So I'm left with the question, what do you do when you hit this wall? Some thoughts:

1) Talk to other writers--I've met some A-mazing writers in the last year. Both in the academic circuit and online. People that I feel privileged to have met, and I know to a great extent that this will benefit me in the long run. Not so much because of the obvious networking piece, but more because I believe when great minds interact a piece of them is taken away in the other. It's a kind of magic osmosis, a blending and rejecting of ideas, aesthetics, and principles that might have never occurred to you, sitting alone in front of your laptop.

2) Go do something other than writing for a bit: This is not to say that you shouldn't continue to labor on your writing in some way daily, but I think it's good to add something new to the mix. Any good trainer will tell you that you will hit a weight-loss plateau after awhile. Usually this is cured by adding new elements to the workout regiment. What will this look like for me? Well, let's just say I have my first session with Sheneka Rosser trainer extraordinaire this coming Saturday. Have you ever seen a morbidly obese half-Asian female poet? Well have you?! No. Not gonna happen here. Facebook/Google images has officially killed the whole illusion that you can be a writer who cares nothing for your appearance. You don't have to be a sex symbol, but you can't look like the uni-bomber either. I know how shallow that sounds, but it seems naive or deceptive to tell a writer otherwise.

3) Get cozy with the business end of writing: Writing is like a mullet, dude. You can't have the party in the back without the business in the front. It isn't a mullet if you take one or the other away. When the muse departs, it's a perfect time to get to business--start studying literary mags you admire, reading articles by their editors, following AND commenting on industry blogs, becoming a part of the dialog in some way.

4) Stay positive: This is SO easy to tell someone else. I've told my writerly friends, "Hey, you're in a gathering season right now, that's all." Now it's time to put my money where my new-age mouth is. And I will remind myself that you can't write like you're on fire all the time or we'd all be dead by 25. And I will remind myself that I should like to sustain the fire over a lifetime. And I will I espouse the model of Sharon Olds over Sylvia Plath where life-writing-sanity-balance is concerned.

And that is precisely what I will do until inspiration rockets down into my brain like brimstone. In the interim, pass the 10lb weights--I'm busy getting ready for my new purple tankini.

*What do you do when you hit writer's block--I mean, your "gathering season"?

What I Learned at My First Writer's Conference

The Mount Hermon coffee shop is brimming with very important looking people, click-clacking away on the keyboards of very important looking laptops. In addition to looking important, those with Macs get bonus points for coolness, and double bonus points if they have BOTH a Mac AND horn-rimmed glasses.

I am in a room composed almost entirely of writers, or rather, people making a living (some monetarily and others only metaphorically) off of the written word--poets, novelists, editors, agents, publishers. I am surrounded by my fellow near-sighted, English class-loving, Espresso-worshipping, Walt Whitman-quoting soul mates. We have all come to this place, lovely and perfumed by earthy Redwoods, hoping to catch some part of eternity through the written word.

In 48 hours I will return to my little sullen (but beloved) corner of Georgia. When I return, I most likely won't have a book deal, but what I will have is some valuable information as I embark on my journey to the New York Times Bestseller's List (hey, you should always aim high people):

1) Industry words/phrases are important: As pompous and foreign as they may feel in the mouth of a new-comer, you must learn to embrace the jargon that gets you noticed by editors. Phrases on my industry vocabulary list this week include: "dramatic narrative non-fiction" and "felt needs."

2) Being a writer is SO much more than writing: Being a writer in the 21st century means embracing the new ways people consume media, which increasingly blurs the lines between the personal and the professional. Books will always have a place, of course, but no longer can a writer assume that he/she can get away with being a surly, unshaven recluse without people skills. Blogs, speaking engagements, and at least moderate attractiveness are required in addition to your ability to craft a mean sentence.

3) In the presence of power, just be yourself: In the course of pitching my own ideas, and overhearing others do the same, I've learned that the best way to sell your idea is by NOT sounding like an overly-rehearsed, contrived, infomercial salesperson. People want something real. Apparently animals, children, and editors can smell a fake. So breathe deep and drop the three-point sermon already.

4)Research, research, research: Since we're on the topic of pitching, it should be noted that it is appreciated if you know WHO you're pitching to. If a publisher specializes in Christian devotionals, don't come with your YA romance novel about a teen who falls in love with (fill in the supernatural being), and expect anything more than crickets chirping. It's not just about wasting their time, its also about sparing your own(as well as your ego).

5)Writer's conferences are conducive to crying: Apparently it's perfectly normal to have a complete and total breakdown during the course of a conference; we're talking full-fledged, toddler sob, snotty-faced breakdown, with a dash of 'Oh God, why do I suck so badly?' thrown in. But I wouldn't know personally of course, I'm too mentally strong for that (she says as she throws away the soggy ultra-soft Kleenex crumpled in her pockets).

6) It's perfectly okay to change your project on the fly: After one VERY unsuccessful pitch (the impetus for a truly pitiful breakdown. See #5), I was left baffled about how I could have done better. At the next pitch, still shaking and unsure, I let the conversation begin to seep into my own understanding of the project rather than approaching the conversation with an immutable and fixed product. This was a turning point for me. Editors stopped being gracious, and started being interested. Four requests for proposals later, I am thinking that this whole "listening" thing may actually work. Who'da thunk?