dear Writer’s Block, i’m breaking up with you…

Dear Writer’s Block,

It’s not you, it’s me. You’ve been fun an all, helping me to catch up on TV and fiddle around on Twitter. You’ve helped me a lot around the house, encouraging me to clean the bathroom, and organise my sock drawer. And many other equally important tasks.

But mostly, you made me feel better about myself. Temporarily. I could blame you when projects didn’t move forward. I could excuse my own procrastination by putting it down to spending time with you. Every relationship ought to be invested in, right?

Alas, constantly blaming your partner for your failings does not for a happy relationship make. So, this is it. It’s over between us.

The reason it’s not you but me, I’ve realised, is because you don’t really exist. It’s time for me to face up to the truth. You have been either imaginary, or inflatable. Not real. You were someone I created to excuse a lack of progress.

At times, you were simply convenient. I could pick you up and drop you as I pleased, though in my naivety I believed it wasn’t actually in my power to choose. I thought you had some kind of hold on me. A raw magnetism?

Perhaps not.

I’m bored of you now. I have places to go and things to say. You’re holding me back, like a ball and chain. One that doesn’t nag but does something more sinister. You whisper to me, words like: “you have nothing to say”, “you are innately boring”, “you have as much creative talent as a bendy straw.”

But the fact is, I don’t need the excuse anymore. Do you want to know why?

Because there is always something to write. Always creativity to express. It’s inbuilt. All I need is a pen and paper, or a phone, or a tablet, or a laptop, or a wall and some chalk.

If I’ve hit a wall on one thing, I can write something else; a list, my all-time best brunch, my favourite childhood holiday, a story based on the title ‘New Beginnings’, a rant about people sitting the middle lane of the motorway.

If I don’t know what to write. I can still write. Something. Anything. It doesn’t have to be perfect. Especially if it’s a shitty first draft as no one will see it anyway (unless I die suddenly and someone looks on my computer – best password protect it, just in case).

If I had nothing to paint, I could still paint, but paint nothing in particular. If I had no music to play I could still play something that is similar to, but nothing like, a finished piece. I can write something that is not perfect, or interesting, or clever, and will never be seen. That would be fine. I could also write something imperfect that is seen, and that would be fine too. The important thing is that I write.

So that is why I don’t need you anymore. Writer’s Block, I’m breaking up with you.

(No, we can’t even be friends).

Love From,


Credit: This post was inspired by a writing prompt from

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