The “Why” Behind Your Writer’s Block

I’m sitting at my desk, not doing any writing even though I’m only four chapters away from being finished with my book—the same way I haven’t been doing any writing every other day for over a year now, until that deadline hits and I have to submit a chapter to my critique group—and then I sprint for the finish line until I just barely make it. This is the norm for me. I’m procrastinating—moping—the same way I always do, when my brother knocks on my door.

I spend the next thirty minutes complaining about how I know my story is good but I just can’t seem to get it done.

At which point he asks a critical question—“Why?”

So I tell him I don’t know and he responds that I do know. “Why aren’t you writing?” He asks again.

“I don’t know what to write,” I say.

“Why don’t you know what to write?” He prods.

“Because my characters usually tell me what to write, and I just tell their story. I’m waiting for them to tell me what to say.”

“There’s your problem,” he tells me. “Why are you waiting for your characters to tell you a story when you’re the writer?”

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Limiting Beliefs

I’ve had this belief since I was a child, since I first experienced that feeling of flow—where you sit down at your desk and the story just spills onto the page, and into your mind.

I believed that the story was alive, coming from some source outside of myself, and I was the conduit.

When the muse decided to deliver the idea, when the characters decided what direction they wanted to take the story—whether it was in class, in the middle of lunch, or at 3 am—I’d drop what I was doing and run to the nearest sheet of paper and scribble, scribble, scribble for fear that if I wasn’t fast enough the magic would disappear and the story would sputter out.

I didn’t realize how deeply that belief was ingrained in me, and how damaging it might be for me as a writer, until my brother asked me, “Why? Why don’t you know what to write? Why do you think the words come from outside of you? They’re your thoughts. Your words. You write the story. You decide what happens next.”

The Mindset Shift

For the last few days, I’ve been using a new mantra: I write the story. I decide what happens next.

The flow hasn’t always been there, but the words have. When I took ownership of the output, the words started to flow again. I just had to stop waiting for permission from my own imagination.

The Question

If you’re stuck, stop looking at the page and start looking at your “Why.”

• Why aren’t you writing?

• Why are you stuck?

• Why do you believe you need “permission” to start?

Follow that chain of whys. There’s your answer. The blockage isn’t in the story—it’s in the belief.

So, stop waiting. You’re the writer. Decide what happens next.