The weather where I am is nice. When I’m not nearly drowning in all the rain that is. Yesterday was a lovely day though. Sunny, humid, but with a wind at just the right moments. It was a good day.
Namely because I got to hold a bird. Now I live in a house with many windows, in the middle of the woods. Birds tend to see their reflection in the windows, think it’s a bird invading their territory then charge, slamming into the window and sometimes stunning themselves. In this case a female goldfinch landed on her back, too stunned to right herself. I went outside and righted her, a towel and container for her to rest in at the ready.
Usually if a bird is stunned, I set them right, make sure nothing bothers them, but leave them alone to let them recover.
This time around nature changed my plans. I picked her up, and tried to place her in the blanket so she could rest, but she would not let go of my fingers. I never realized that birds could hold on to something that tightly with such small and spindly legs. I sat with the bird for ten or so minutes, studying her. Letting her poop on my hand, look around, and recuperate. I didn’t think it was possible to bond with an animal in such a short time. But by the time the little one flew off I had a sense of peace that’s stuck with me ever since.
In a way, I felt the bird’s accident was a nice parallel to how I feel when I’m hit with writer’s block. I’m startled, not quite sure if my head is on right. I can see where I want to go, but can’t actually get there. My usual bout of writer’s block is not a lack of ideas, but too many ideas mushed together with the uncomfortable need to write something I don’t have an idea for.
Writer’s block is probably the most dangerous part of being a writer. It can be terrifying. The want and need to create is deeply ingrained. And then to feel as if we can’t access that part of ourselves? Sometimes writer blocks (or other creative blocks) can last for years. But it’s not the end. I’ve seen people stop writing for years, then start it up again, stronger and better at it than ever.
Writing is a solitary thing, but it doesn’t have to be a lonely one. Isolation can only help one so much. Self care, friends who take part in creative activities, and taking time to explore (however you feel you explore best), can lead to getting back on your feet.
And of course, sometimes, you just gotta let the crap out before you take off. Rant, rave, throw a hissy fit at a wall, whatever it takes. But get the bad stuff out, then start slowly moving forward.
It’s something I’ve noticed when I’ve helped a bird after they’ve run into a window. Once they’re ready to fly they leave a parting gift (thanks, but ew), and fly off. Just a little ways. But within a couple of minutes of their first flight, they’re flying like nothing happened. It happens every time. It’s a good philosophy.
Being stuck is always a struggle. It can last for a brief time, or for years. My most recent bout was for a couple of months, although I went through a block for a period of years. I’ve seen it happen with my other writer friends too.
I guess all of us need to be a little bit of a goldfinch. Get the crap out and fly off to the next adventure.