why I haven't been able to write a word

I've been back from New York almost 3 weeks now. I'm currently not working which means I have lots and lots of free time, all to myself, with nothing to do but sit at my computer and write. Or so you would think.

I've sat down and opened Beirut Rhapsodies and tried to work on a new post --wrote something, read it, realized it was very "blah". Left it in the "drafts" folder and forgot about it.
I've tried to work on the story that I came up with when I was in New York, a really exciting project for a novel that I absolutely can't wait to get started on, yet I haven't been able to do anything about it since I've been here.

Every day I've woken up and told myself that today, I would get back to my active lifestyle and go to yoga. I check the schedule, pick the class I want to attend --and then don't end up going. I spent the last two weekends on my best-friends' blue couch, because it's my comfort zone: we each sit on a side, watch some ridiculously mind-numbing TV series and let the day go by.

When it rained last week (superstorm Alexa really wasn't that bad, was it?) I hid under my covers and listened to the honking cars outside, imagining the traffic and feeling delighted that I was completely avoiding it.

So what the hell is happening? Everything I'm describing is me at my most passive behavior. No inspiration to write when it's all I should be doing. But I recognize this feeling. It's me being in Beirut. I get sucked in this black hole of no motivation and no creativity, and the only thing I've actually been able to write about is just this: nothingness.

The truth is, I'm a dreamer. I don't like to feel insignificant, in my little life, driving my little car, running errands and taking way more instagram pictures than I should have time for. So I've been hiding.

But I want to come out now.

Blue Valentine

So I failed one of my "writer's block" challenges. I said I would give something to someone on Valentine's Day and I didn't.

I'm not big on the whole V-Day thing. Not in a "Oh My God I HATE Valentine's day it's such a HALLMARK holiday it's so stupid... but I wish someone would send me flowers anyway!" kind of way... More in a "Oh, it's Valentine's Day? Hmm cool. Love you!" I think the most romantic gift I ever gave for VDay (and the most effort I put into it) was, ladies and gents, when I was 11 years old. I cut a heart shape out of red cardboard and glued heart-shaped pasta on it. Then I called the boy I was in love with on the phone to tell him "You'll have a gift tomorrow at school" and hung up straight away because I was mortified and embarrassed and red up to my ears. And the next day, I ran to him during recess and just gave it to him. And ran away after, of course. Back then, I'm not sure why I did it. I mean, why put myself through the embarrassment when I knew I wasn't getting anything back? Sometimes, things don't make sense right away. It may seem stupid, but this is a gift that he never forgot. And I am happy to say that 15 years later, on Monday, he invited me for lunch, and he said and I quote: "for that heart-shaped cardboard with pasta on it."

So what happened yesterday, across the globe, with people I know? Well, one of my friends who lives in Munich woke up to a message on her fridge from her three-months boyfriend saying "Je t'aime." It was the first time he ever said it to her. Some friends in Beirut when to a speed-dating event at my favorite bar in the city, Dictateur, and had a great time. My sister had a girls-night-in because her new boyfriend who is a doctor-thank-you-very-much, was on-call... In Montreal, my best-friend went to a Zumba Class because that's what she does on Tuesdays. And Facebook of course was a swarming platform of love, with some really cool links, like people around the world remembering their first loves and my ultimate favorite, the Valentine Cards of Ben Kling.

And what did I do? I met Blue. Blue is a Belgian Shepherd Groenendael. She's a beautiful, black dog and when you hug her, it feels like you're hugging a huge stuffed animal. Except that she is real and she can hug you right back. And the way she loves her master is so genuine and so unselfish, it makes you feel like it's the best kind of love: uncomplicated, forgiving, and unconditional, with no expectations other than its love to be returned.

And I guess the fact that I didn't give anyone anything on Valentine's Day isn't entirely true. I gave a kiss to someone very special. And I got one back.

so, I called in sick

I wanted to get started on my list of things to do to get over writer's block [see looking for my mojo]. Not really sure how these particular challenges are going to get the juices flowing, but I'm trying. It's not like I have anything else to write about.

So, I called in sick. Seemed like the easiest, most convenient one to start with. Mostly because I had barely slept all night and was dead tired anyway. I woke up at noon, took an hour to actually get ready to leave the house. Left the house deciding to do things I've been putting off for months. Drove to the optician to get new eye-glasses because I broke mine back in June and still haven't gotten a replacement. There was no parking space so I left.  Drove to the jewelry shop to shorten the ring my aunt gave me for Christmas in 2010. There was no parking space, so I left.  Drove to the Nail Salon, to the Stationer's shop, to the shop that's been bombarding me with SMSs because it's 70% off, but no parking. So I left. I drove back home, after an hour of aimless driving, ready to have lunch. But there was no place to park.


Basically, nothing happened that day. If anything, it got me even more depressed about the fact that nothing interesting is happening anymore and it's all boring routines, traffic jams and unproductive days. I went to bed angry. 


Then the next day, I was really sick. Woke up feeling nauseous and unable to move. Slept it off and woke up feeling much better three hours later. Meanwhile, I had called in sick, obviously. So I got on my feet and walked around, even though it was pouring rain. I hit the bank, did my nails, paid my credit card bill, paid my rent. Went to my studio, which is supposed to be my writing haven and which I haven't really used properly since I've been suffering from writer's block... But my roomy and I decided to do a huge cleanup, fixed it around, and when I finally sat down in front of my computer, something magical happened: I got an idea. 


Unfortunately, I can't share that idea with you yet, because then I might jinx it and I'll be right back where I started. But the point is, it kind of worked. 


Then, later last night, I was at a friend's, and I was talking about wanting to go somewhere for inspiration. Traveling, somewhere, anywhere, just to see something new. Different experiences always inspire. So he made me play a game: there was a map of the world on his wall, and a flechette [one of those small arrows you throw]. Anyway, after about ten failed attempts for the flechette to actually stick, and my friend patiently telling me exactly how to throw it, it finally landed on South Africa. I was in Cape Town and Johannesburg in June 2010, for the World Cup. It was the last trip my ex-boyfriend and I took together, a couple of months before we broke up. I had fallen in love with Cape Town. I remember thinking that I could just buy a cottage on the beach and stay there forever. It was so beautiful, so vibrant, so colorful. We stayed at the most amazing hotel I've ever been, the Cape Heritage, and we had an amazing time, with the world-cup fury and all. But something was off during that trip. Although we spent two weeks together, alone, and we had a lot of fun, something was going sour. I couldn't put my finger on it at the time, but I see it clearly now. We weren't the same "us" anymore. And when the flechette landed on South Africa, I realized I had to let it go. Close my eyes and remember the sea-shore, and Table Mountain, and the unbelievable rush of watching a football game with tens of thousands of people. Remember the good memories, let go of what hurts. Because when I meet someone else, I can't be so scared of getting attached that I forget to enjoy it. I can keep the thrill of riding the helicopter, but let go of the fear. 


I threw the flechette again. It landed on Costa Rica. Might seem random but the crazy thing is my best-friend and I are planning to go to Costa Rica in April. It's the "greenest" country in the world. The goal is to go spend ten days in wildlife settings and going back to our sources. Forget our chi-chi make-up bags and heels at home, and dig our hands in the soil. Literarily. Remove all the layers we put on all year long: the brave hand-shake at a work meeting, the flirtatious smile on a night out, the mask we put on when we're feeling blue, the hello-how-are-yous we don't really care about. We want to stay away from the things we do because it's the right thing to do, or because we have to do it, or because that's what we're expected to do. In the end we don't know what is real and what isn't, what we really want and who we really are. So we want to go to a place where there is nothing but plants and trees and creatures we've never seen before. Where no one will judge the size of our hips or the things we say. Somewhere we don't speak the language, know no one and want nothing.


I threw it a third time. It landed right in the dead sea, between Jordan and Egypt. It struck me as odd at first, and then I remembered: the dead sea was where we went for our last vacation with my mother. We went to Aqaba in Jordan and on the last day, we went to the dead sea and had the funnest time floating around and putting mud all over our bodies because it's "good for the skin." During that vacation, I saw my mother dance, water-ski, laugh, run around and put mud all over everyone's face. She had such positive energy even though she was months away from dying. And I realized yesterday that this is the place I need to go to, in my mind, when I'm lost. The place that reminds me of her strength, her joie de vivre, and these amazing yet fleeting moments that get lost in the spectrum of time. When I remember the sand grabbing onto my feet and the water standing still, it grounds me. She grounds me. 


The Dead Sea in French is called la "Mer Morte." La Mere [Mother] Morte. 


So, I called in sick.  Went for a trip around the world. And brought some of my mojo back.

looking for my mojo

Last week I panicked when I realized I couldn't write. I could barely come up with one paragraph to tell you all that I can't write... And I thought of taking a long break, get my thoughts together, maybe get some real inspiration brewing... but then I realized that I might never come back from that lengthy break, so I'd rather try all sorts of stuff to get my mojo back...

So the first thing I did, of course, is google "writer's block." It's funny how the first thing we do in any situation now is go to google. And here's how Wikipedia defines it: Writer's block is a condition, primarily associated with writing as a profession, in which an author loses the ability to produce new work. The condition varies widely in intensity. It can be trivial, a temporary difficulty in dealing with the task at hand. At the other extreme, some "blocked" writers have been unable to work for years on end, and some have even abandoned their careers. So it's a condition. And here I thought it was just one of those things writers used as an excuse when they had nothing to write about!


So now that I know I have a condition I feel the need to treat it. I found all sorts of articles on how to overcome writer's block... And there were some very strange ideas, like "talk to a monkey or a stuffed animal." No comment.  Another was "take a shower, change clothes." Seriously. Like that's something you should do only if you're really desperate to write. And my ultimate favorite: "Find God." I don't know about you, but if I find God, I won't give a shit about writing anymore.


Anyway apparently there's a serious lack of good tips when it comes to getting yourself out of writer's block. My suspicion is it's because anyone who's ever attempted to write these tips were trying to overcome writer's block themselves, and just ended up by listing a bunch of crap. 


I've been trying to write a long time, so I've tried my fair share of crap before. Do not go isolate yourself for three days in Faraya when the weather is gloomy and your hotel room barely fits a bed. Ordering crappy room service while watching fuzzy TV and feeling lonely will not get you inspired. You'll just end up leaving by the end of day 2, even if it's dark outside and the fog is thick and you're afraid for your life while you drive back down. You'll just be out of three hundred bucks. 


Oh and do not buy five different books from Amazon.com that all promise to help you write the world's next best-selling novel. They take too long to arrive, you pay three times their worth on shipping and handling (what is "handling" anyway?) and when they actually get here and you take all five of them on your isolation retreat in Faraya, you're probably only gonna read the first three pages of each and decide that no one can tell you how to write, it's an inner talent that everyone works with differently. 


Here's what I'm willing to try to see if I can get my mojo back: I'm going to come up with a list of 8 things to do in the next month [February]. And we'll see what happens for each... if nothing else, there will be pictures to prove my efforts.

1. Shock a complete stranger. I don't know how yet
2. Be blond for a day... and a night
3. Call in sick, and see where the day goes
4. Rats night out: convince the Rats to leave their belles at home one night and give me some oh so needed Rattitude
5. Go on a road-trip: somewhere I've never been
6. Give someone something for V day even though I hate it and it's corny and whatever
7. Read the letters my grandparents wrote each other before they were married
8. Look for God, obviously 

So... wish me luck.