Writers Block

So, here I am, sitting on my bed with the aching desire to write something.

Okay, fair enough, I consider myself a bit of a writer, and I do have a novel and a script to go on with...

Nope, nothing...

Oh, God no.

Writers Block.

This is the most feared condition faced by any who craft a living or even just a hobby from the use of language. Novelists, journalists, biographers and textbook editors, there is simply too much swirling in our heads that we can't pull any idea from our minds at any time, right?

I wish.

If only we had some way of understanding where ideas come from? What is happening in our brains when we suddenly think "Oh, I know, I'll give an autistic kid omnipotent abilities!" (I didn't think of this one, thank god, it was someone else's. I haven't yet brought myself to actually read it.)

Is it like Terry Pratchett says; elemental particles, existing in the same ethereal dimension of the universe as our consciousness, sleeting through the world in their thousands, sometimes landing on the right mind at the right time producing magnificent works; largely, falling un-received to the ground. Some people, like Da Vinci or Shakespeare, get massive torrents of the stuff; other people go through life with a trickle, or none at all.

I'd like to say I have a bit of a bucket when it comes to inspiration, but, like everyone, it has run unfortunately dry. Despite all of my plans and intentions for my work, I can't seem to get them anywhere; backed myself into a corner with near invisible walls.

So, how does one drench this dismal dry spell? I've been told about "One liner" exercises, "Write until it's funny", "One Character/One Crisis/ Fix it" etc, etc. Nothing seems to help at the moment. To make matters worse, I'd just pared my life back to trying to get more work, and writing, hoping to achieve some small stability. Nope, no chance of that at the moment, it's a dead fucking end.

Sorry, I'll calm down...

So, what now? Last time I had really bad writers block, I decided to make up an exercise; I would write about my friends, but I would give them super powers. Guess what? I scrapped the original text, and wrote a 325 page novel. Now I'm writing the second in what I hope to be a trilogy, and a script for an episode of Doctor Who. I can't really afford to start a new project.

Maybe I'll revive something from my folders of crap I wrote in High School. That should at least give me some self-deprecating schadenfreude.