Writer's Paralysis as Resistance

It’s hard to write these days. At least, it’s hard for me to write.

When I was in grade school, I had a teacher who wanted to make sure we practiced writing. We had to write a daily diary, and if we couldn’t think of anything at the moment, he would tell us to write “I don’t know what to write.” in our journals.

I don’t know what to write.

I’m demoralized and angry by the current state of the country. Couple that with lifelong anxiety and depression, and it’s a recipe for writer’s paralysis. It’d be inaccurate to call it writer’s block, since there’s plenty I could, and even want, to write about. However, when I sit down to write about whatever subject has me fired up on a particular day, my mind immediately branches off into a related topic, and another. Before I know it, I find my mind entangled in a complex web of dread and anger about everything else this administration, and its enablers, are doing.

I’m angry at Trump and his goons. I’m upset with the people who voted for American Fascism, the Democratic politicians in power who, with few exceptions, have seemingly given up, the craven sycophancy of servile Republicans, the utterly absurd alternate reality that MAGA inhabits, and so on. It’s exhausting. I’ve opened this blog numerous times over the past several months, determined to write about whatever had me reeling that day, and quickly became paralyzed and gave up.

This is, of course, the goal of the Fascists in power. The chaos they’ve cultivated is designed to send us into a collective state of despair and hopelessness. Mission accomplished.

Words are my weapon of choice, and I am determined to keep using them to fight. If I sit down 100 times and write nothing, that’s 100 attempts; each attempt still required effort. Maybe the 101st try will be successful. Effort matters, even if it nets nothing.

And so, today I wrote something. I’ll try again tomorrow.