Writing Through Writer's Block: When the Blank Page Becomes Your Friend

Man deep in thought. Writer's block?

Transforming Your Greatest Fear Into Your Most Powerful Tool

There's a particular paralysis that every writer knows intimately—that moment when you sit down to write and the blank page stares back at you like an accusation. Your cursor blinks mockingly. Your pen hovers uncertainly above the paper. The words that felt so clear in your head just moments ago have vanished completely, leaving behind nothing but a crushing sense of inadequacy and the growing certainty that you'll write nothing worthwhile again.

I've been there more times than I care to count. I even wrote about it in one of my early posts on this blog, which I’ll link here if care to look at it. There have been weeks where I've opened the same document day after day, typed a sentence, deleted it, typed another, deleted that too, and closed my laptop in frustration. There have been periods where the very act of sitting down to write felt like walking into a room full of people who were all waiting for me to fail.

But over the years, I've learned something that transformed my relationship with writer's block entirely. I’ve learned that the blank page isn't your enemy. It's not a judgment or a test or a reminder of your limitations. It's simply a space waiting to be filled, and it doesn't care whether what fills it is brilliant or terrible. More importantly, I've discovered that writer's block isn't actually about the absence of ideas—it's about fear, perfectionism, and unrealistic expectations.

Today, I want to share what I've learned about writing through writer's block, not around it or despite it, but through it. Because sometimes the path forward isn't about avoiding the stuck places—it's about moving even when you feel completely immobilized.

Understanding What Writer's Block Really Is

Before we can write through writer's block, we need to understand what it actually is. Mostly when we say we have writer's block, what we’re really dealing with is fear, fear of writing something bad, afraid of not living up to our own expectations, fear of judgment or failure. The ideas are usually there, buried under layers of anxiety and self-doubt.

I remember one particularly brutal stretch where I couldn't write anything for weeks. I convinced myself I had nothing to say, that my well of creativity had run dry. On my worst days, I’d convinced myself that nobody cared what I had to say, anyway. But when I finally sat down with my journal—not to write anything "good," just to dump my thoughts onto paper—I discovered I had dozens of ideas floating around in my head. The problem wasn't a lack of material; it was that I'd set the bar so high for what made up "worthy" writing that nothing felt good enough to begin.

Writer's block often manifests differently for different people. Some writers, like me, get paralyzed by perfectionism—we can't start because we're already imagining how the finished piece will fall short of our vision. Others get overwhelmed by too many choices, unable to decide which idea to pursue or which direction to take a story. Still others get caught in comparison traps, looking at other writers' work and feeling like they could never measure up.

Sometimes writer's block shows up as procrastination that feels productive—researching endlessly without ever writing, organizing our writing space for the third time this week, or convincing ourselves we need to read just one more craft book before we're ready to begin. Other times it's more direct: we sit down to write and literally cannot form words, as if the connection between our thoughts and our ability to express them has been severed.

Some writers experience different manifestations of writer’s block. Perfectionism bit me often in the beginning because I thought I had to be ten times better than the next guy to get noticed. I’d spend hours on end researching things for whatever project I was working on, my inner critic insisting I have to have every solitary fact right in order to not look like a fool. Before I knew it, a whole day was gone, and I was exhausted as if I’d done a whole day’s writing. In reality, I’d done absolutely nothing, so there’s the procrastination, whether I notice it or not. 

 I’ve also discovered that I have a form of ADD that seems to only show up when I’m writing. I’ll start writing something, walk away from it and sit down to watch TV or something and another idea will slap me in the face and not leave me alone. This happened recently when I was trying to work on my novel. On the bright side, it produced my last blog post, but it was no less frustrating knowing I wanted to establish a fiction voice to go along with the one you see on this blog. Sometimes this is caused by other ideas. Other times, it’s just another form of perfectionism giving me an excuse not to work on a project. Understanding the difference has been crucial to my process.  

Understanding your particular flavor of writer's block is crucial because different types require different approaches. The strategies that work for perfectionism-induced paralysis might not help with idea overwhelm, and what breaks through procrastination might not address comparison-fueled insecurity. What I found most helpful was breaking through the many myths surrounding the first draft.

The Myth of the Perfect First Draft

One of the biggest contributors to writer's block is the myth that good writers produce polished prose on their first attempt. This belief is not only false, but also actively harmful to the creative process. Every published piece you've ever admired went through multiple drafts, revisions, and edits before it reached the form in which you encountered it. I wrote an article about the role and importance of the first draft, especially as it relates to my process, just before the new year. You can check that article out here if you’re interested. The path to accepting the role of the first draft was not an easy one for me, but I have come a long way in accepting the first draft for what it is and continuing the process because of rather than despite the first draft.

I spent years believing that "real" writers sat down and produced clean, coherent, publishable text in one go. When my first drafts were messy, rambling, and full of half-formed thoughts, I took it as evidence that I wasn't cut out for writing. It wasn't until I started reading about other writers' processes and seeing their early drafts that I realized messiness is not only normal—it's necessary.

The purpose of a first draft isn't to be good. It's to exist. It's to get the raw material onto the page so you have something to work with. As the saying goes, you can't edit a blank page, but you can edit a bad page. This shift in perspective—from trying to write well to simply trying to write—can be revolutionary for breaking through blocks.

When I finally embraced the concept of the "vomit draft"—just getting everything out without worrying about quality—my relationship with the blank page changed completely. Instead of seeing it as a space where I needed to create something perfect, I started seeing it as a place where I could safely make a mess, knowing I could clean it up later.

This doesn't mean abandoning all standards or not caring about the quality of your work. It means recognizing that quality comes from revision, not from trying to get everything right on the first try. The best thing you can do for your writing is to give yourself permission to write badly, especially in the beginning.

The Power of Starting Ugly

One of the most effective techniques I've discovered for breaking through writer's block is what I call "starting ugly." This means deliberately beginning with the worst possible version of what you want to say, with the full intention of improving it later. There’s a widely used quote attributed to Ernest Hemmingway—though there is some debate whether he actually uttered the words—about first drafts that I couldn’t help but chuckle over and have made it a part of my process.

“The first draft of anything is shit,” the quote says, and though I’m unsure if he actually said it, I have used that quote as a way of telling myself, “Just write it. You can perfect it later.

Instead of sitting there trying to craft the perfect opening sentence, you might write something like: "This article is about writer's block and I don't know how to start it but I guess I should talk about how it feels terrible and makes you want to quit writing forever." It's clunky, informal, and completely unpublishable—and that's exactly the point.

Starting ugly serves several psychological functions. First, it eliminates the pressure to be brilliant right out of the gate. Second, it gets words flowing, and momentum is often all we need to keep going. Third, it often contains the seeds of what will eventually become a much better opening, once we've given ourselves permission to experiment and play.

I've written some of my best pieces by starting with absolute garbage and then slowly improving each iteration. My first draft might be a rambling mess full of repetition and unclear thinking, but buried in that mess are usually one or two sentences that capture what I'm really trying to say. Once I find those sentences, I can build around them.

The key is to approach ugly starts with curiosity rather than judgment. Instead of thinking "this is terrible, I should delete it," try thinking "this is terrible, what would make it better?" Often, the answer reveals itself through the process of trying to improve what you've already written.

Freewriting: Your Secret Weapon

Freewriting has become my go-to strategy for breaking through writer's block, and it's mentioned it in several of my posts because it's been such a game-changer for my creative process. The concept is simple: set a timer for a predetermined amount of time—I usually start with ten minutes—and write continuously without stopping to edit, revise, or even think too much about what you're writing.

The rules of freewriting are deliberately liberating: you can't stop writing, you can't go back and fix anything, and you don't have to stay on topic. If you can't think of what to write, you write about not being able to think of what to write. If your mind wanders, you follow it. If you complain about the exercise itself, you write down those complaints.

What makes freewriting so effective for writer's block is that it separates the act of generating ideas from the act of evaluating them. When we try to do both simultaneously—come up with ideas and judge whether they're good enough—we often end up doing neither effectively. Freewriting forces you to focus solely on generation, trusting that evaluation can come later.

I do some of my freewriting sessions with my fountain pen in my journal, usually in the early morning when my internal critic is still sleepy. Other times, often at the same time of day, I’ll open a blank document on my Chromebook in Google Docs and type my thoughts out. It just depends on my mood. Regardless of the input mode, the words flow more freely when I know I'm the only one who will ever see them.

Often, my freewriting sessions start with complete nonsense—stream-of-consciousness rambling about what I had for breakfast or complaints about how tired I am. But somewhere in those ten minutes, something usually emerges. An idea I didn't know I had, a connection between two seemingly unrelated thoughts, or simply the reminder that I do, in fact, have things to say.

The beautiful thing about freewriting is that it works even when it doesn't work. Even if a session produces nothing usable, the act of moving my hand across the page or my fingers across the keyboard breaks the spell of paralysis. It reminds my brain and body what it feels like to write, making it easier to transition into more focused work.

Changing Your Environment

Sometimes writer's block isn't about what's happening in your head—it's about what's happening around you. The environment where you usually write might have become associated with frustration and failure, making it harder to access creativity when you're in that space.

When I find myself stuck at my usual writing desk, I'll pack up my notebook and pen and head to a different room, or better yet, a completely different location. A lot of times, it’s a simple transition from my kitchen where I have my morning coffee to my office, or from there to my favorite chair in my living room that provides enough of a shift to break through mental barriers. The change doesn't have to be dramatic—sometimes just facing a different direction or writing on different paper—or a different format, is enough.

I've written some of my best pieces in the most unexpected places. I’ve written many posts for this blog in the spring and summer months while sitting on my patio in the backyard. The crop in the field beyond the yard changes every year, and sometimes the current crop makes its way into whatever I’m writing. I’ve also written and brainstormed many of my favorite pieces while sitting on the shores of a lake while on vacation with my family. There's something about being in a space that's not in your normal routine that can free you from the expectations and pressures you've built up around your usual writing environment.

The physical act of movement can also help stimulate creativity. If I'm really stuck, I'll take a walk—not to clear my head or take a break from writing, but to think about the piece I'm working on while moving. Usually this walk doesn’t take me far, just to the other room for a drink or a snack sometimes does the trick. Other times, I’ll just pace the floor between my office, my chair and my bathroom until either something sparks, or I tire of walking. Something about the rhythm of walking often helps thoughts flow more freely. I usually keep my phone with me on these walks for quick notes or even voice memos. I always seem to end up thinking out loud when I walk, and I'm always surprised by how many problems resolve themselves when I'm moving.

Temperature, lighting, and sound can also affect your ability to write through blocks. I don’t do well with heat. I write better in cooler temperatures and with natural light when possible, but I’m not opposed to shutting myself in my office with the desk lamp on either. Some people need complete silence. Others work better with background noise or music. I was thinking about this the other day, and I thought to myself, “You work your day job with headphones on and an audiobook in your ears. Why not try writing like that?” So I did. I put the audiobook I was currently listening to, which was Bonnie Traymore’s “The Stepson,” and started brainstorming. Best idea session I’d ever had. Pay attention to the conditions under which you feel most creative, and try to replicate them when you're struggling.

The Art of Writing Around Writer's Block

Sometimes the most direct path through writer's block is indirect. Instead of trying to force your way through the specific piece that's giving you trouble, try writing around it. Write about why you're stuck. Write about what you wish you could say if you weren't overthinking it. Write about what scares you about this piece. I remember a particular day when I was writing the first chapter of my novel, and I actually caught myself writing, “Where the hell am I going with this?” What ensued was essentially a fourth wall break that lasted for two pages. I knew this would end up on the cutting room floor, but it got me writing again and that’s what mattered. It wasn’t the first time something like that happened, and I knew it wouldn’t be the last.

I've found that often, when I can't write the thing I'm supposed to be writing, I can write about not being able to write the thing I'm supposed to be writing. This meta-writing often reveals what's really blocking me and sometimes generates ideas for how to approach the original piece differently. Like the “Where the hell am I going with this” I mentioned above. It caused an internal monologue that worked like a drain snake unplugging a sink. When I stopped trying to write well and focused on just getting words down, they came out more easily.

Another approach is to write the piece badly on purpose. Tell yourself you're going to write the worst possible version of whatever you're working on, and then do exactly that. Make it cliché, boring, obvious—embrace every writing sin you can think of. Often, this exercise is so liberating that you end up writing something much better than you expected, or at least generating enough material to work with later. I did this with my fantasy project. If you were to look at the first couple chapters of that draft right now, you’d find every double entendre and fantasy cliche in the book. I even admonished myself saying, “I wrote better than this in high school,” but at least the pages had words on them. That’s what we’re going for, right?

You can also try writing in a completely different format or style than what you're aiming for. If you're stuck on a serious essay, try writing it as a children's story. If you're blocked on a poem, try writing it as a news article. I’ve written many blog articles this way. I tried writing a serious personal essay about how cerebral palsy is not the reason behind a lot of my setbacks, and while I was writing it and getting stuck, a YouTube video came on about the typewriter revival and I wrote about that instead. It ended up being my best performing article. Sometimes distractions can create inspiration, just as perceived constraints can lead to creative freedom.

Using Constraints to Create Freedom

It might seem counterintuitive, but sometimes the key to writing through a block is to give yourself more constraints, not fewer. When faced with infinite possibilities, our brains can become overwhelmed and shut down. Constraints provide structure that can actually enhance creativity by giving you specific parameters to work within.

Time constraints can be effective. Give yourself exactly fifteen minutes to write something—anything—about your topic. The artificial deadline removes the pressure to create something perfect because you know you don't have time for perfection. You only have time to get ideas down.

Word count constraints work similarly. Challenge yourself to explain your main idea in exactly 100 words, or to write a complete story in exactly 55 words. The restriction forces you to focus on what's truly essential and can help you identify the core of what you're trying to say. I overwrite, and this strategy helps me work on that.  

Format constraints can also be liberating. Try writing your idea as a list, a letter to a friend, a series of questions, or even a recipe. These alternative structures can help you bypass the part of your brain that's overthinking the "proper" way to write about your topic. I wrote an article for my Blogger page this past summer that started as a series of journal entries I wrote while sitting on the screen in porch I talk about many times in the article. I’ll link that here in case you’re curious. The words should come first. Formatting and perfecting the piece will come later.

Embracing Imperfection as Process

One of the most important shifts in my relationship with writer's block came when I stopped seeing imperfection as failure and started seeing it as an essential part of the process. Every piece of writing goes through an ugly phase—usually several ugly phases—before it becomes something worth sharing.

This means that feeling stuck, frustrated, or disappointed with your work isn't a sign that you should quit. It's a sign that you're in the middle of the process. The goal isn't to avoid these difficult phases but to learn how to move through them with patience and persistence.

This perspective helps me approach writer's block with curiosity rather than panic. Instead of thinking "I can't write," I try to think "I haven't figured out how to write this yet." That small shift in language makes the problem feel temporary and solvable rather than permanent and insurmountable.

It also helps to remember that even professional writers—people who make their living with words—experience blocks regularly. It's not a sign of inadequacy or lack of talent; it's a normal part of working with language and ideas. The difference between writers who publish consistently and those who don't isn't that the successful ones never get blocked—it's that they've developed strategies for writing through the blocks instead of waiting for them to pass.

The Role of Self-Compassion

Perhaps the most crucial element in writing through writer's block is learning to treat yourself with the same kindness you would show a friend who was struggling. The internal critic that tells you your writing is worthless, that you should give up, that you're wasting your time, is not helping you improve—it's keeping you stuck.

I've noticed that my worst blocks often coincide with periods when I'm being harsh with myself. The voice in my head becomes increasingly critical, pointing out every flaw, comparing my rough drafts to other people's polished work, and catastrophizing about my writing career. This critical voice masquerades as helpful feedback, but it's actually just fear disguised as advice.

Learning to recognize this voice and respond to it with compassion has been game-changing for my ability to write through difficult periods. Instead of arguing with the critic or trying to prove it wrong, I try to acknowledge its concerns while gently redirecting my attention to the work itself.

When I catch myself thinking "this is terrible, I should just delete it all," I try to reframe it as "this is a rough draft, and rough drafts are supposed to be imperfect." When the voice says "You're wasting your time, no one will ever want to read this," I remind myself that the act of writing itself has value, regardless of whether anyone else ever sees it.

This doesn't mean ignoring legitimate feedback or abandoning standards for your work. It means creating an internal environment where creativity can flourish rather than one where it's constantly under attack. You can be committed to improving your craft while still being patient with yourself during the learning process. After all, you can’t edit a blank page.

Building Anti-Block Habits

While it's important to have strategies for working through writer's block when it occurs, it's even better to develop habits that make blocks less likely. These habits don't guarantee you'll never get stuck, but they can make the stuck periods shorter and less intense.

Regular freewriting practice is one of the most effective anti-block habits I've developed. By writing without pressure or judgment consistently, I stay in practice with the physical and mental act of putting words on paper. When I need to write something more formal or structured, the transition feels less daunting because I haven't let my writing muscles atrophy.

Keeping an idea file is another helpful practice. Whenever I have a thought that might become a piece of writing someday, I jot it down in a dedicated notebook or digital file. This serves two purposes: it ensures I don't lose ideas when they occur to me randomly, and it gives me a resource to turn to when I'm feeling creatively empty. Even if none of the ideas in my file feel immediately compelling, reading through them often sparks new connections or reminds me of things I'd forgotten I wanted to explore. I used to think the same way my literary idol, Stephen King, thought about notebooks. “The good stuff stays,” he once said. My favorite quote on this topic from him is, “I think a writer’s notebook is the best way in the world to immortalize bad ideas.” I think he’s right to a point; some ideas I’ve sealed away in notebooks are sealed away because they were terrible. For me though, I think I need to write things down to get them out of my head. Whether they are good comes later. Some of my best ideas have come when I’m doing something as ordinary as reading.

Reading widely and regularly also helps prevent blocks by keeping my mind engaged with language and ideas. When I'm consuming lots of good writing, I'm more likely to feel inspired and energized about my work. Conversely, when I go too long without reading, my writing feels flat and uninspired. I wrote the first two chapters of my fantasy project after finishing Wolves of the Calla, which in case you’re not familiar, is part of Stephen King’s Dark Tower series. I’m not sure why as I write this, but something about that book put me in my own world, and I decided to write that world. But good writing isn’t all about time at the desk and time with your nose in a book. You’re a better writer when you take care of yourself, as I found out the hard way on multiple occasions.

Physical habits matter too. I write better when I'm getting enough sleep, eating regularly, and moving my body. These might seem unrelated to writing, but creativity is intimately connected to overall well-being. When I'm taking care of my basic needs, my brain has more resources available for creative work. As counterintuitive as this sounds, the main character in my current fiction project is afraid to go to sleep. I, however, am not afraid of sleep. It just doesn’t come easy sometimes. Once you get into a rhythm though, it gets easier. 

Working with Your Natural Rhythms

Not all times are equally good for writing, and trying to force creativity during your naturally low-energy periods is a recipe for frustration. Learning to work with your natural rhythms rather than against them can significantly reduce the frequency and intensity of writer's blocks.

I'm naturally a night person, which is why my midnight writing sessions work so well for me. My brain doesn't fully wake up until late in the day, and trying to do serious creative work in the morning often results in frustration and poor-quality output I’ve adopted a morning routine that includes coffee and either drafting or editing posts like these, but I find my best writing still takes place at night. Once I accepted this about myself and structured my writing schedule, my productivity and satisfaction with my work exploded.

Some people are most creative first thing in the morning when their minds are fresh and uncluttered. Others hit their stride in the afternoon or during brief windows between other activities. Pay attention to when you feel most mentally sharp and try to protect those times for your most challenging writing work.

It's also worth noting that different writing might require different mental energy. I find that I can do editing and revision work at times when I don't have the mental bandwidth for generating new material. Drafting requires a different focus than research, which requires different energy than responding to emails about my writing.

By matching the type of writing work to your current energy level and mental state, you can stay productive even when you don't feel capable of your most demanding creative work. This helps maintain momentum and prevents the feeling of being completely stuck.

When to Push Through vs. When to Step Away

One of the trickiest aspects of dealing with writer's block is knowing when to keep pushing and when to take a break. Sometimes the block is just resistance that will dissolve if you write through it. Other times, continuing to force the issue only makes the problem worse.

I've learned to pay attention to the quality of my frustration. If I'm frustrated but still engaged with the ideas, if I can sense that I'm circling around something important but just haven't found the right way in yet, that's usually a sign to keep working. The breakthrough might be just a few sentences away.

But if I'm frustrated and completely disconnected from the work, if I can't remember why I cared about the topic in the first place, or if I'm feeling genuinely distressed rather than just challenged, that's usually a sign that I need to step away for a while.

The key is to step away strategically rather than just giving up. I might take a walk specifically to think about the piece, or I might work on a completely different writing project for a few hours, or I might read something related to my topic. The goal is to change my mental state without abandoning the work entirely.

Sometimes the most productive thing you can do when you're blocked is to trust that your subconscious mind is still working on the problem even when you're not actively writing. I've had the experience many times of going to bed stuck on a particular passage and waking up with a clear sense of how to approach it. This only works, though, if you've spent enough time consciously wrestling with the problem first.

The Block as Teacher

Over the years, I see writer's block less as an enemy to be defeated and more as a teacher with something important to tell me. Sometimes the block is pointing out that I'm trying to write something I don't actually care about. Sometimes it's highlighting the gap between what I'm trying to say and what I actually believe. Sometimes it's simply reminding me I need to slow down and think more deeply about my subject.

When I'm blocked on a particular piece, I now try to approach it as a puzzle to be solved rather than a failure to be overcome. What is this block trying to tell me? What am I afraid of saying? What do I actually think about this topic, as opposed to what I think I'm supposed to think? What would happen if I wrote exactly what I wanted to write, without worrying about how it would be received?

These questions don't always lead to immediate breakthroughs, but they often shift my relationship with the stuck feeling from adversarial to collaborative. Instead of fighting against the block, I try to work with it to understand what's really going on beneath the surface.

Sometimes this inquiry reveals that the piece I'm trying to write isn't the piece I actually want to write. Maybe I'm approaching the topic from the wrong angle, or maybe I need to let go of some preconceived notion about what the piece should be. These realizations can be disappointing in the moment, but they usually lead to much stronger writing in the end.

Conclusion: Making Friends with the Blank Page

The blank page will never stop being a little intimidating—that's part of its power. But it doesn't have to be a source of paralyzing fear. With the right strategies and mindset, it can become a space of possibility rather than judgment, a place where imperfect beginnings can grow into something meaningful.

Writing through writer's block isn't about eliminating the hard feelings that come with creative work. It's about learning to move forward even when those feelings are present. It's about trusting that confusion and uncertainty are part of the process, not signs that you should quit.

Every time you sit down to write despite feeling blocked, every time you put words on paper even when they feel inadequate, every time you choose to begin rather than waiting for the perfect moment or the perfect idea, you're building your capacity to write through difficulty. You're proving to yourself that creativity is stronger than fear, that persistence is more powerful than perfection.

The blank page is not your enemy. It's not judging you or waiting for you to fail. It's simply there, patient and ready, waiting to become whatever you're brave enough to make it. And that, perhaps, is the most liberating truth of all: the page doesn't care whether what you write is good or bad, profound or silly, polished or rough. It only cares that you begin.

So begin. Write badly if you have to. Start ugly. Embrace the mess. Trust the process. And remember that every published writer you admire has sat exactly where you're sitting now, staring at a blank page and wondering if they have anything worth saying. The only difference is that they found out.

What strategies have worked for you when dealing with writer's block? Have you found particular techniques that help you push through the stuck places? I'd love to hear about your experiences in the comments below.