A writer’s block can at times be the single worst thing to happen to some people, although fortunately it seldom stays too long it most effectively brings about a frustration that far surpasses even the most intense of despairs.

Nothing feels worse when settled down in front of the computer, your attempt to excavate those buried inspirations, little anecdotes, incidents or ideas that you had set aside thinking you’d write about them later because you had work to do, office to go to, other worries to engage your mind with; just wont work and those ideas wont flow when you need them or you don’t like the language you use while writing or for that matter, your thoughts feel like as if they’ve been stuck in some sort of a brain-strainer that lets out the choicest of bullshit restraining the good stuff. Have you ever felt this way? I have. I still do and I hate it.

However, the issue with my blocks are quite different, in the sense; they are unusually prolonged, like a sickness. Every now and then an inspiration used to come flittering around my nose like Gandalf’s little butterfly and I used to try and grab it, if I missed, the idea was lost forever. But of late I seem to be suffering from quite a powerful bout of the block as I feel blankness every time I feel the urge to write, such prolonged lack of inspiration threatens of a possibly permanent creative impotency.

So I found a way around the problem, writing about writer’s block itself. Just for the time being, hoping it would act as a much needed aphrodisiac for my mind and also in a way live up to the description of being a perfect blog-post. But the dilemma lingers, what next?

Where’s that butterfly?