For 5 years of my life, somewhere in the murky waters of my late teens and early 20’s, my life was like a slow-motion race to the bottom between eating a terrible diet, smoking cigarettes, partying too hard, driving too fast, staying up until dawn, mixing with people who weren’t resourceful to my cause, and harboring complete apathy towards anything beyond tomorrow.
I was going to live forever, so anything that involved responsibility or serious planning could wait until later.
Most people like to live in a safe space of their own design. They don’t want to do anything that will test their abilities, confront ideologies that challenge their worldview, nor will they do anything that others might see as odd or socially unacceptable.
I’m not talking about streaking at a sporting event either.
Sitting in front of a word processor, while the cursor blinks hypnotically at the top of a blank page, is a ritual of writing. Blogger’s block, as I call it, is an unavoidable part of the writing experience. There are times where the words simply don’t flow.
If you’re a writer of any description, I guarantee that your creative fountain has clogged at some point. It happens to the best of us.
In this post, I will give you 7 methods that I personally use to both avoid and push through blogger’s block.
It’s Friday evening here in New Zealand, and another work week has just reached the end of the line.
My commuting costs were nil, my conversations with coworkers and managers were limited to the comfortable arms-length of phone calls and email, and no one disrupted my work by demanding that I attend to their needs right now, like some sort of needy toddler.
To this slightly-reclusive introvert, it was bliss.
It’s hard to believe that it was just over a year ago that TruthInjected was born. When I held my breath and hit “Publish” on my first post, I didn’t expect that TI would have garnered the readership that has today.
And yet, here we are. People from over 50 countries, spanning all inhabited continents, have read articles on TI.
When I was studying at university, my aspiration was to become a professional gambler.
That’s right – I wanted to make my millions through betting on football matches. Now, I’m not talking about going to the bookies and taking a punt on the season’s designated punching bag because they are paying $20 to beat the best team in the league and just continuing to place irrational bets because I “have to make it back”. That’s what is known as problem gambling, and I was going to become a responsible gambler.
When I was 16 and taking a gap year because I was sick of the banality of academia, and nowhere near ready mentally to take on a degree course, I took whatever job I could find.
That job was driving forklifts, lugging bags of concrete and cutting timber to size for builders. Everyone at my work hated their job. It was a place that “dreams go to die”, as I was advised by a colleague when I first started working there. I was apparently making a huge mistake.