By: A Writer Who’s Been Stuck More Times Than He’ll Ever Admit
Here’s something no one tells you when you start writing professionally: the block doesn’t go away.
You just learn how to dance with it.
The myth is that real writers are always inspired. That if you really loved the craft, ideas would pour out of you. But I’ve written for brands, magazines, ghostwritten for CEOs, and even scribbled my own essays into the void — and I’m here to say that even after all these years, I still wake up some mornings with nothing.
No spark. No angle. Just a blank page and that familiar dread.
But I also know this: a creative block isn’t a signal to stop. It’s a signal to shift. Shift your state, shift your process, shift your expectations. And over the years, I’ve built a little toolbox for just that.
First: Stop Trying to Be Brilliant
This is the trap. You sit down expecting genius, and when the words don’t land like poetry, you assume something’s broken. But writing — real writing — is messy. The first draft isn’t supposed to be good.
My rule: write badly on purpose.
Set a timer for 10 minutes and write the worst, most self-indulgent version of your idea. Let it be repetitive, cliché, awkward. Get the clay on the table. You can sculpt later.
This permission to suck is often what frees the dam.
Second: Change the Medium
If I can’t write on a screen, I switch to a notebook. If that fails, I talk into a voice memo. Sometimes I use sticky notes. Other times, I go for a walk and pretend I’m explaining the idea to a friend.
Every idea lives in a different format. The trick is finding the one that unlocks the door.
Some of my best paragraphs started as grocery list margins. Others as half-asleep voice notes that didn’t even make sense until I rewrote them a week later.
Third: Leave the Room
Literal and metaphorical.
Sometimes the block isn’t about the writing — it’s about the narrowness of your current inputs. If you’ve been staring at the same content, the same routines, the same spaces — your brain has nothing new to say.
Get outside. Read something weird. Watch a documentary you’d normally skip. Go somewhere you’ve never written before. Let your brain breathe. Inspiration doesn’t come from grinding harder — it comes from seeing differently.
Fourth: Create for One Person
When I’m stuck, I ask myself: who am I really writing this for?
Not “the audience.” Not “my followers.” One person. A friend. A past version of me. Someone specific who needs this exact message, right now.
Suddenly, the writing becomes a conversation — not a performance. The pressure drops, and the voice returns.
Finally: Know When to Walk Away
Some days, it’s just not there. And that’s okay. You can fight the block, or you can rest and return. Creativity isn’t a faucet. It’s a tide. And pushing through isn’t always noble — sometimes it’s just counterproductive.
But here’s the key: walk away with intention. Not by doom-scrolling or numbing out — but by refilling the tank. Read. Move. Sleep. Think. Then come back. The page will still be there.
The block isn’t the enemy. Silence is part of the process.
You don’t need to be brilliant. You just need to show up, stay curious, and keep building your tools.
Some days, all you’ll write is one good line. Other days, you’ll write ten pages. The practice is showing up for both.