“DEFEAT THE BLANK PAGE!”

In bold, all-caps letters, the phrase shouts back at me. It’s printed on an otherwise empty page in the book cupped in my hands: “The Friend” by Sigrid Nunez. For a moment, it feels as though the author is challenging me — no, daring me — to do the thing I keep avoiding: Write.

My favorite novel for as long as I can remember, “The Friend” isn’t about writer’s block. And yet, every time I return to my steadfast literary companion, I find myself resonating with the narrator’s paralyzing struggle to write. For her, it happens around three-quarters into the book. For me, it happens every few pages.

What do you do when writer’s block hits so hard it’s become the norm?

As a journalism student, I pride myself on my ability to write. Whether it be in my journal, on my laptop or a shiny tabletop in Fisk Hall, I always have words swirling in my mind — words I’m simply dying to etch on a page.

When my friends and I argue about which is easier — solving problem sets or writing essays — I’m the first to jump up and declare the latter as the beautifully obvious choice. But oftentimes, my one and only pride — the thing I tell myself I am supposed to be good at — becomes harder than ever.

So, here we are: Writer’s block and I.

I like to tell myself I’m simply uninspired or that I haven’t read anything lately that’s worth reacting to. I dismiss ideas as derivative; too controversial, too trivial; too much work or, hilariously, too little. I always manage to find the perfect excuse to let the blank page win.

Then, my friends start firing well-meaning but unbearably pointed questions: What am I working on right now? Anything of mine they can look up? I should send them my next article — they’ll definitely read it. Am I seeing “Bugonia” this weekend? Maybe I should write about that.

I thank them and say that everything is going great. I’ve been swamped with work, but I’ll be sure to let them know when I publish anything new. I pretend I haven’t deleted five drafts with semi-written introductions and endless bullet points moved to a “word trash” section. To me, the blank page doesn’t exist if I never committed to it to begin with.

But eventually, one has to straighten their tie and face their fear.

I won’t pretend I have the answer to defeating writer’s block. In fact, while writing this, I deleted and re-typed the same sentence five times as I watched my cursor mockingly flash at me. But I did realize one thing: Much like any other sport, hobby or activity — writing takes practice.

I made myself write even though I didn’t want to. I started typing words that slowly ate up the white emptiness of my laptop screen. In some cases, the writing didn’t make sense. In most cases, it made a bin-worthy draft. But I was nevertheless making it happen.

Margaret Atwood, beloved author of “The Handmaid’s Tale,” said that you aren’t really a writer if you’re not writing. My initial reaction to this was, “Okay, Margaret, you’re just trying to sell your Masterclass.” But once I got over myself, I knew she was right. If I were a basketball player, I’d have to actually throw hoops to call myself one.

So, I open the blank page and start scribbling. What’s something I’ve noticed on the street? Who did I see today? Why am I irritated as the holiday season is coming up? Did Mariah Carey really just sneak a Sephora ad into her annual Christmas video? Why did that New York Times article irk me? And just what is it about those Starbucks teddy bear coffee cups that makes them so appealing?

Eventually, the writing comes. Maybe not inspired by any of the prompts I forced myself to blabber about, but it’s there. In an oxymoronic way, here I am: Defeating writer’s block by writing about it.

When we feel stuck, it’s easy to get caught in a whirlwind of anxiety. The mobility and control we lack in tough situations make us feel afraid to even try to get out. Maybe, instead of constantly setting mountainous goals for ourselves, we can break them down into smaller pebbles of achievement.

For me, this looked like staring at the blank page for hours and then copying a quote from my favorite book. Sometimes, that first step towards coming out of the Kansas-esque tornado may just be taking a breath and trying — even in the littlest way.

Besides, as my dearest TV fashionista Carrie Bradshaw once said: “Computers crash, people die, relationships fall apart — the best we can do is breathe and reboot.”

And start typing on that blank page, of course.

Alexia Sextou is a Medill sophomore and author of “Margin Notes.” She can be contacted at [email protected]. If you would like to respond publicly to this op-ed, send a Letter to the Editor to [email protected]. The views expressed in this piece do not necessarily reflect the views of all staff members of The Daily Northwestern.

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