3C
Wednesday, January 3, 2018 // The Statement
Soundtracking: Writer’s block
S
o I may or may not have
stared at a blank Google Doc
page for hours on end trying
to write this column. I don’t
consider this column about not being
able to think of a column “phoning it in.”
I consider it making the most out
of what I was given — which was a
laptop, a deadline and early 2000s bops
floating around in my brain.
Between my essay-steeped course
load, working at The Daily, drafting
plays and scenes and attempting to
record some songs every
now and again, it’s safe to
say I write a lot. I have to. As
someone who can barely say
two words without making a
fool of himself or cracking a
half-baked joke to get out of
an awkward conversation,
writing gives me something
physical to grasp onto. You
can take your time when
you’re writing. The language
can flow onto the page in
one swift breeze but you
have the ability to go back
and comb through the word
vomit. You can’t go back and
revise a conversation; this
isn’t
the
fun-for-all-ages
comedy “Click” starring the
immaculate Adam Sandler.
Sometimes
when
I’m
writing, I feel as though
I’m
drunk.
I
blink
and
words suddenly appear on
my page. I feel this way
right now. Sometimes your
drunken stints of text turn
into
complete
and
utter
garbage. You look back and
think, “What the hell was I
thinking?”
All Bad — J.I.D ft. Mereba
But sometimes you strike gold. On
rare occasions, you reread your work
and it isn’t the worst shit you’ve ever
seen. It could even be good like when
you play “Tipsy Chef” and become the
Gordon Ramsey of drunk food — I still
stand by my pretzels and chocolate
milk combo and I will never change.
I surprise myself a lot. Like for
instance, I’m genuinely shook that I’ve
been able to write this much. It took
quite awhile.
Here’s your daily dose of Julie
Andrews:
“Let’s start at the very beginning, a
very good place to start”
No Title — Corbin
The title is arguably the hardest part
of writing for me. I have trouble starting
a piece if the title is blank. I also have
trouble condensing something I’ve
just finished drafting into a short title
that represents the entire work. Like
how the hell do people come up with
autobiography titles? You’re basically
writing your own epitaph. You’re
summarizing the story of your life in a
max of five words.
Mine
would
probably
be
“So
White
You
Need
Sunglasses:
An
Autobiography.”
After wracking my brain for an hour
or so on this column, looking through
my Spotify for songs and scrolling
through Facebook because I’m weak, I
decide I need to get out of the house.
I can’t write at home. Some find
solace in the familiar. I’d rather be at
a coffee shop or somewhere in public
so I feel bad if people see me scrolling
through a news feed or reading an
article on David Bowie’s 100 favorite
novels when I should be working.
I hop in my car and drive. I need to
get far enough away from home where
it will be too long of a drive home if the
column isn’t done. A coffee shop is ideal.
As I drive with no specific destination
in mind, I pass by the primary example
of cookie-cutter chain coffee shops.
I can’t say the specific one here but
let’s just say it rhymes with Barbucks.
No one will be any the wiser. I am not
about to stop there.
Fuck the Industry — Solange
I keep going until I remember my
favorite little spot in metro Detroit.
It’s about 15 minutes away from my
house but worth the hike. Amazing
and cheap coffee, huge reading room,
comfy chairs, a portrait of George
Washington in the bathroom — what
else could I ever need? I pull up, park
and head inside to find the reading
room completely empty. 10/10 for this
idea.
Many afternoons have been spent
taking
friends
around,
ultimately
stopping here for an hour or two to talk
around our mugs, read, write, play card
games or do whatever our caffeine-
fueled hearts desired.
I’ve never been disappointed by the
confines of this coffee shop.
Never Let me Down — Kanye West
ft. Jay-Z and J. Ivy
Upon arriving, I think I’ll be able to
crank out this column in no time.
Wrong. Dead wrong.
My fingers rest on the keys. I never
learned how to really type with all
fingers so the position feels awkward.
I close my eyes and expect ideas to
flow from my brain to my hands to the
keyboard to the screen. Instead, I can’t
get the image of a specific music video
out of my head.
I remember watching this video on
VH1’s “Top 20 Countdown” for a couple
weeks. If I had to say so, I’d say it was
a certified bop. It slaps. It bangs. Every
word you can think of to describe a
jam, this song fits the bill. It’s all I can
think of. My column ideas go out one
ear and this tune goes in the other.
I regret nothing.
The Sweet Escape — Gwen Stefani
ft. Akon
Akon’s refrain and Gwen’s “woohoo,
yeehoo” won’t leave me alone. I can’t
focus on the column.
I rely on my coffee to drive me
through and actually help me escape
“The Sweet Escape.” I need that
extra jolt to push my brain cells away
from 2006 Gwen Stefani
and towards my column
deadline. When I go to buy
a cup, the woman behind
the register waves me away
when I try to pay.
“The register’s on the
fritz. You’re all good,” she
says.
My
heart
melts.
Free
coffee? I take this to be a
sign of some power greater
than my understanding. If
this safe haven of literature
and caffeine can grace me
with free coffee, I can finish
this column. When I sit back
down, I close my eyes once
again. This time, I feel that
drunken haze I get when
a writing storm is brewing
start to fall over me. I am
ready to get to work.
Liberation
—
SiR
ft.
Anderson .Paak
Ultimately,
the
coffee
and the unwavering stare
from George Washington’s
portrait peering through the
open bathroom door drive
me to finish this piece. It is
not my proudest work but it
is also not the worst piece of
writing I have ever attached my name
to.
In conclusion, my recommendation,
as the textbook-definition of a rookie
writer, would be if you ever suffer
from writer’s block, here’s what you
need to do:
Get away from where you sleep.
Writing in bed will break the crucial
gap between home and work, which is
no good in my book.
Something to drink gives you a quick
reprieve from thinking. Be it coffee,
water, alcohol or anything in between,
raising a glass to your lips physically
stops you from writing and can be the
perfect pause you need before you dive
back in.
Always keep a portrait of George
Washington handy. It’s something
about the eyes that says “Keep
writing, asshole.”
BY MATT HARMON, COLUMNIST
ILLUSTRATION BY MICHELLE PHILLIPS