Whether or not you believe in writer’s block, here’s my experience of it.
It was around 2010. My career was blossoming. I was on a crest of a wave – at the time writing for EastEnders, writing and directing a short film, writing for kids’ TV, as well as a children’s book that was very close to a publishing deal with Macmillan.
But all these things came to a sudden and unexpected stop (a new exec came on board EastEnders with preference for other writers; I was struggling to complete my short film; all other work dried up and Macmillan fell through at the final hurdle). Luckily, I got a job on another drama series, and I wrote a couple of episodes of that.
To further my involvement in the show, I joined their storyline team (you sit in a room working out what will happen with the characters and story). It’s an illuminating and exciting process; you learn a lot about ‘breaking story’. Off the back of this, I hustled another episode to write. I felt focused and informed, fully integrated into the world of the show. I sat down to write the episode, based on a storyline that I had helped develop, and I came up with… nothing.
Stuck. No clue what to write. Eventually managing a few lines, some dialogue, a scene. Delete. Rubbish. Agh. Try again. Nope, worse. But I had a deadline, so I HAD to finish and submit.
‘Just write anything’ is the mantra to get out of writer’s block. So I did. Going through the outline and splurging out scenes, getting anything down in order to make progress. I managed to get through it but knew it wasn’t great. I tried to assuage myself that it was a rough first draft. The script editor’s notes would help me guide it to what it needed to be. I hit send. A few days pass. The script editor reads the script. And has only one crippling note: Danny, what the hell has happened here?
The script has major problems across the board. Tone, characters, dialogue, scenes. Oof, it’s bad. But I’ve written two episodes of the show already, how could I get it so wrong? That’s why the script editor is so perplexed. We meet in person to chat it through. The script editor, who is lovely by the way (albeit struggling to contain her bafflement), goes through the script line by line, scene by scene, stopping to ask me (or point out) what’s gone wrong, why would a character say this, why is this happening? I can only nod and concede, offering meek justification for my choices.
Our meeting takes six hours. At the end, I’m dazed and exhausted. It’s like I’ve been in a boxing ring where my sparring partner has jabbed me with endless soft blows to try to raise my game. We agree that I’ll have another go at a first draft – not even a second draft of the pile of poo I originally submitted. I hunker down, taking on the script editor’s notes and guidance. It’s a better first draft for sure. But my confidence is low; I know I can do better. No time left, I hit send.
The script editor is kind. This script IS better. But still not up to scratch for what they need. And because of the speed in which their production operates, they need to take the script away from me to get it ready for filming. I’m fired, basically. I’m devastated. But I’m also bewildered. How has this happened? How did my writing crash and burn so spectacularly? My confidence must have taken a bigger blow than I realised when my previous work dried up suddenly. Plus, there was some personal distractions, as well as the pre-occupation of getting my short film over the line (you can watch that here if you like, turned out really good!).
Above all, I knew I had severe writer’s block. I was stuck while writing my first draft, and gripped with anxiety trying to redeem the situation. Crucially, I realised writer’s block doesn’t mean you can’t write anything. It means anything you do write is not very good, and only makes you feel worse about yourself, creating a vicious circle.
Soon afterwards, I got the opportunity to work on an exciting new kids’ TV show. A couple of friends were the head writers and invited me to pitch. We spent two fun days brainstorming and pitching with a room full of other writers and execs. But none of my pitches got chosen. This was different than my first draft disaster with the script editor. These were pitches that were slightly misfiring or just unlucky to be similar to others that were chosen. I felt awful, thinking I’d left my friends down who had given me the opportunity. They were generous and supportive: hey this stuff happens, we still love you. But it was the final nail in my writing block coffin.
It was the beginning of a two-year spell where the last thing I wanted to do was write. I still wrote here and there (still feeling blocked) but most of my time was spent teaching screenwriting instead. The teaching gradually helped me to unlock my anxiety, and get back into a groove. Hit reset and reposition myself. Then, another opportunity on another children’s TV show. A fantastic opportunity on an already popular series, successful across the globe. So… don’t mess it up.
I knocked it out of the park. Phew! It helped me solidify my renewed confidence and clear approach. I had finally overcome my writer’s block. I began to feel like my old self again. But writer’s block doesn’t really exist, does it? Based on my experience, I put it down to a form of depression. And just like with depression, you don’t tell someone to ‘just cheer up’, so you should never tell a writer who’s blocked to ‘just write anything’. It’s going to take a bit more soul searching than that…
*There's a nice postscript to this story: I've kept in touch with the script editor over the years. We've drank/laughed/consoled about that first draft disaster, and she's now happily working in children's TV - because I championed kids' TV to her so much.
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