A good – if not entirely sporting – place to start a discussion about being pro-writers’ block is with the anti-addiction argument. So… why do I hate junkie-writer movies so? (And I do – I really, really hate junkie movies.)
Because junkies are joyless and, even worse, one-note.
Yes, writers with block have a certain sameness to them, too – mostly a lot of staring glumly at the blank page, the monitor, the typewriter – but the fun stuff happens when the writer gets up from the page, the monitor, the typewriter, and does some living instead. When the junkie writer gets up from the page, he goes straight to the nearest dealer. Injects drug of choice. Spectacularly fouls up career, health, hygiene regimen, relations with family and family. Rinse and repeat.
Characters are interesting because of the choices they make, but characters who are addicts make the same decision over and over again.
Characters who are creatively blocked, on the other hand, are entirely unpredictable, as they go to greater, weirder lengths to tap into the muse. And writers who are blocked can be completely nutter. Just look at Barton Fink, which, alongside Adaptation, is probably the standard-bearer for writers’ block movies. The Coens go so far as to link Barton’s block with serial killer psychosis, as when John Goodman’s deranged “salesman” says, “I understand what happens when things get all balled at the head office.” Indeed. Block inspires madness, and that madness in turn inspires great writing.
And addiction inspires… Ben Stiller in black leather?
This article appears in October 10 • 2008.
