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