How to Deal with Creative Blocks?

Easy question and prompt answer. How to deal with creative blocks? Giving it due importance: none.

I even understand the terror of some writers with the white screen, the vacuum of ideas, such “creative blocks”. But I see this as an extremely fragile problem, likely to be broken with three beats on the keyboard.

What is so-called “creative blocks” is usually the set of psychological excuses that a writer repeats to himself for not writing.

As long as it is possible to begin a novel with “Once upon a time…”, a tale with “It was a sunny morning…”, an essay with “The object of this study…” or a dialogue with “How are you?”, creative block will never be a relevant problem.

But what happens, and the little practice has always supported me, is that the fingers activate the brain, and if they dare to type something like “Once upon a time…”, automatically the brain, irascible and relentless, will make immediate correction, so that even before the fingers finish their youthful intent, the phrase will already be properly reconstructed.

The brain is lord and stubborn broker of the fingers, but needs their stimulus to put itself to work. So, if a sunny day dawns, just for that, the brain will begin to paint it as it should be, and then the fingers, very agitated and hasty slaves, will have to review the work done badly or continue if it is good, which they will do with great pleasure, since they are made to hard work. In short: it all comes down to a matter of starting the movement.

Therefore, understanding “creative block” as a problem of the fingers, taking note that, when sitting down, he will immediately put himself to write, regardless of the emotional state, environment or motivation of the day, the writer can thus keep his spirits up for the terrible work that awaits him in the review, which will require everything possible to extract from his brain, tormenting him with the unattainable form, the failure in the rhythm of the text, the bad chaining of paragraphs, the word that escapes or does not express to him precisely… not to mention, of course, the extremely bitter feeling that will immediately sprout in his chest as soon as the brain begins to bring to life the lines written in a state of emotion.

This “creative block” is a problem that arouses laughter when the writer stakes goosebumps in front of a poorly written text, full of errors, long-winded, tedious, inexpressive, knowing that exactly this text took him tens of hours and constitutes, in short, the work of his life.

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The Real Artist

Weeks, perhaps years of meditation, hard work, seclusion and intense psychological effort to give birth to a work that will do nothing more than expose all his fragility and imperfection: this is the reality of the true artist. Deals with minimal financial return and almost always judges unrewarded the efforts. Furthermore, sees the criticism, in success or failure, marking its mandatory presence. How to explain? Who would work facing such luck? Publishing a work is no less than total exposure. And if we conclude this way, it will be necessary to add that the true artist, who strives to record his impressions and feelings in artistic work, whatever it may be, may lack the other qualities, but not this: courage.

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To Let the Absurd Gush

Every time I am amazed at something I write, I reflect: it will stay the way it is! For if I change, I blame myself, I close my imagination between bars, I limit my creative horizon. And if I give vent to the absurd, to the amazing, I execute exactly the opposite, extending my own limits, extending my imaginative dimension. So I got used to disliking my texts; in short, I learned never to use common sense to censor my means of expressions.

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Nietzsche and the Impotence of Language

Nietzsche was a critic of language. Wisely realized that it is only able to generalize, simplify the world and falsify the real. Pascal said something similar following the same logic: the essence, or the knowledge, is not liable to be put into words — or seized. For Nietzsche, language is a translation, and our cognitive apparatus gives us nothing but a perspective of reality, that is: we are not able to define the thing itself, and knowledge is a question of interpreting and seeking for master the chaos of appearance. Very well! Then I look around and only see convictions, truths, sensible opinions, grounded interpretations, empirical conclusions, all wrapped in an absolute maniqueism. Caution and doubt today are signs of weakness and lack of erudition. So I recognize my absolute incompatibility with my time and my deep contempt for the people around me.

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