Writer’s Block

I’ve been meaning to write something down.  It seems like the kind of purshuit that may validate my existence. Oh, now I’m reminded of the latest Adrian Mole diary, The Prostrate Years, in which Adrian’s mother attempts an autobiography.  In fact most things I’ve tried to write resemble Adrian’s unplublished portfolio, though mine wouldn’t be so vast.  Whenever I write something, I feel an urge to purge my exercise book by mercilessly tearing it out.  I’m very embarrassed by my artistic endeavours.

I recently bought a notebook and decided I was going to write in it.  I was going to write something and not tear it up, but accept it in all it’s imperfections as a decent first draft.  It remains unopened.

So I continue in the writers’ abyss.

Do any of you have this problem?  How might one solve it?

 

 

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