5 Tried and Tested Ways to Overcome Writer’s Block

FrontCover_finalYou’ve tried writing. You’ve tried not writing. You’ve tried drinking that potion you got from the homeless guy down on the corner, who may- or may-not be some kind of unlikely street-wizard (and if he isn’t, you should definitely stop letting him live in your basement. Just saying). And yet, despite your best efforts, the words still refuse to come.

Welcome to THE BLOCK.

Suffered by many, understood by few, THE BLOCK is a foul, evil thing that some say was born straight out of Satan’s gaping, fiery butthole. It can’t be reasoned with. It doesn’t feel pity, or remorse, or fear. And it absolutely will not stop, ever, until you are DE—

*checks notes*

Oh no, wait, that’s the Terminator. My bad.

Now, you might think that only writers with some sort of mental impairment get THE BLOCK, but the truth is that all writers suffer it to some degree or another. You could say it’s all part and parcel of the process—the yelling, the weeping fits, the occasional punching of the neighbour’s dog and/or son.

Whatever the reason, you’re probably wondering what you can do about it, whether or not you’re stuck with this impediment for the rest of your literary life. You’re probably frightened. Maybe you’ve even peed a little—and that’s okay. It’s a defense mechanism.

But fear not, o’ weary traveler.

Uncle Dick’s got you covered…


5 Tried and Tested Ways To Overcome THE BLOCK: 


‘But that’s the problem, Uncle Dick!’ you cry. ‘I can’t!’

Well, actually—you can. Assuming you still have the ability to type and scrawl, you can write just fine. It isn’t your inability to write that’s the problem. The problem, rather, is that nothing you write seems any good. It’s all just smeared cat doo-doo up the wall. So you stop. You give up. You put on some of your wife’s lingerie and begin repeatedly flogging yourself in the mirror with a fish stolen from the neighbour’s backyard. Or whatever.

But here’s the trick—just write. Don’t even think about it. Pick the flimsiest, crappiest start off point and just run with it. So what it won’t go anywhere? So what it’ll be a terrible, stillborn monster? Just run with it, and keep running, even if it’s dumb and doesn’t make sense and kinda tickles but in a nice way and MMM DON’T STOP. Just keep running. Forrest Gump that shit, yo.

And in the end, even if you throw the damn thing away (which you most likely will)—HOLY SHITBALLS, SON!—you wrote something. And hey, you never know—maybe it will have worked loose some of that crap that’s been clogging up your head-meat.


(Don’t bother, already coined it).


I know, I know, we all hate it. Exercising is the pits. It’s like sex, only without the sex part and all of the usual sweating/panting/punching/hysterical weeping.

But did you know that there are actually other benefits from a little mild exercise than just the obvious ones? Apart from improving bodily functions and overall health, exercising also increases the amount of oxygen that gets sent to the brain, thus helping you think.

So… yeah.



Yes, I’m serious. It may seem counterproductive, but by taking a break what you’re actually doing is allowing your brain time to recharge. Part of the problem is likely you trying to ‘force’ the magic to happen, and I’m sorry to say it just doesn’t work that way. This isn’t labor. It’s not a case of push till the fucker comes. Step off the gas a moment. Chill.

Whilst it’s true that good ideas often ‘hit us like a bolt of lightning’, inspiration sometimes needs to be seduced, too. Buy it drinks. Tell it how pretty you think it is. Maybe slip a little something into its drink—whatever.

I’m just saying, you need to cultivate that shit a little if want to get your mojo back.

Be patient, and it will come.


No, I don’t mean take a shit (although if you think that’ll help, be my guest). What I mean is—do some other shit, shit other than the same old shit you’re always doing. You need to shake things up a bit. Go to a movie. Read a book. Take a walk. Stand on the balcony of your apartment and shower passersby with your own fecal matter, if you like.

The body and mind are linked. If you allow the body to stagnate, the mind will too.


Okay, so this one is sort of a last resort. Sacrifices can be a messy business, so only use this if all the other methods prove fruitless.

Now, first off, I’m not talking about your wife or son or mother or anybody like that. I mean, we’re not animals. Come on. No, I’m talking more an uncle you don’t like, or a second cousin. Someone like that. Someone extraneous.

It’s probably worth mentioning I have no idea if this will actually work. There’s every possibility all you’d be doing is murdering someone for no good reason. Which would be bad. Of course, on the other hand, if it does work, you’ll be killing two birds with one stone. Which would be good…

(Please note: no dogs were harmed in the making of this blog post. Except for one, which was shaved and made to walk provocatively before a group of other, larger dogs as penance for an earlier indiscretion. Oh, and like, don’t kill people and stuff. Or whatever).


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