I did something extraordinarily unfair in my last post.

Remember the quote I shared? The one from David Eddings? Well, I only used half of what he actually said. There was more to that quote, but it wasn’t relevant to the point I was making at the time, so I left it out. However, in this post, it does become relevant since it shows the less pleasant side of writing.

Here’s the full quote:

When [writing is] going well, it’s like reaching up into heaven and pulling down fire. It’s better than any dope you can buy. When it’s not going well, it’s much like giving birth to a baby elephant.

Not only is this an excellent lesson in how quotations could be used deceptively, but it also provides us with an alarmingly painful visual of what writing is like when it doesn’t go well. On one hand, we have the “high” part of writing—the rush of inspiration, the ecstasy of power, the shameless narcissism. On the other, we have the long, arduous, process of trying to force words out of an empty void only to end up with an unsalvageable wreck on the page coupled with self-loathing and birthing pains.

It’s not fun. In fact, it has a lot of potential to be a sort of cyclical hell, where you struggle to write something that turns out to be garbage, then start over and find that it’s still not working. Often, you end up just sitting in front of your computer screen staring at a blank page and wondering why you’re not doing something more pleasant, like selling insurance or castrating pigs.

Sooner or later, you go do something else and wait for inspiration to come. Unfortunately, the things we writers often do while we wait for that elusive spark aren’t really conducive to it. Sure, there are some activities that can work—strolling through the park, reading a book, chatting with friends, sitting and meditating, to name a few—but often, it’s something more along the lines of scrolling through Facebook, taking a nap, baking a cake, or castrating pigs.

(By the way, if you have ever castrated a pig in order to cope with writer’s block, let me know. I want to hear about it. Except that I actually don’t. Keep that grotesquery to yourself, you sicko.)

Some activities could go either way, like reading articles on Wikipedia, watching a mentally stimulating film, or writing out the entire history of the world setting you’ve created (for you fantasy writers out there). These actions could offer some inspiration for writing a story or give you a chance to unwind a bit, but they could also develop into their own mental rabbit holes all on their own and thereby perpetuate the state of not writing your story/article/blog/memoirs/whatever.

It’s moments like these when writers absolutely detest writing. Yet we keep trying it anyway. Why?

Again, I must confess to having done something entirely unfair. That quote I shared at the beginning of this post was a full quote, but I gave it to you out of context. You see, there’s a reason why we writers do what we do, and it’s completely independent of whether or not we enjoy it.

To demonstrate the “why,” here’s the quote in its full context:

I was in my mid-teens when I discovered that I was a writer. Notice that I didn’t say “wanted to be a writer.” “Want” has almost nothing to do with it. It’s either there or it isn’t. If you happen to be one, you’re stuck with it. You’ll write whether you get paid for it or not. You won’t be able to help yourself. When it’s going well, it’s like reaching up into heaven and pulling down fire. It’s better than any dope you can buy. When it’s not going well, it’s much like giving birth to a baby elephant. You’ll probably notice the time lapse. I was forty before I wrote a publishable book.

As hard as it is, writing is part of a writer’s nature. It’s core to your being, and there’s no resisting it. Fortunately, if you stick with it (and do so willingly), you will from time to time find yourself relishing those moments when you feel pure power coursing through your soul and into your pen/keyboard/specially trained typist monkey.

The key, ultimately, to overcoming writer’s block is to stop overthinking it and just write. Sometimes you get nonsense. That’s okay. Discard it (or save it to share at parties) and move on. Just get the words going and they will eventually find a life of their own. You’ll have successfully given birth to your own baby elephant, so to speak.

And you didn’t even have to castrate any pigs.

Thoughts? Feelings? Complaints? Terrible puns? Let me know in the comments! And if you enjoyed this post, feel free to like and share the heck out of it. All proceeds go toward inner-city pig farms. Really.