How Tarot Helps Me Out of Writer’s Block

To put it plainly, I’m stuck.

I’m in the middle of a creative rut that’s equal parts writer’s block and quarter-life-crisis. All the pressure I’ve been putting on myself to write the perfect story and to keep a quality blog has driven me to a place of inaction.

Recently, I started wondering about what I can do to drag myself out of that place. I used to think that the way out was forcing myself to work harder, but the only things that ever got me were sleepless nights and migraines. Now I realize that the best way through an impossibly huge task is by taking baby steps. (Credit where credit is due: this revelation is 100% my therapist’s doing. So thanks for the wisdom, Dr. R!).

I can’t expect myself to write a whole novel overnight. I can’t expect that all my blog posts will be perfect and garner hundreds of likes when I’ve only been at it for a month and a half. But I can start taking small steps towards those goals. So I began asking myself what exactly I could do to feel like I’m making progress. My therapist suggested I start by thinking about doing the challenging thing, but that isn’t what I need—think about writing all the time. Then I remembered what I used to do before I fell into this spell of inactivity.

In the past, whenever life became too confusing, I’d turn to the cards.

When I first started reading Tarot, I had a tendency to use the cards to dwell on or reevaluate situations and feelings already in the past. Over and over and over again. Shockingly, that did not yield any results. I was using the cards for rumination, instead of treating them as the useful tools that they are. Tarot cards, I now realize, aren’t meant to tell us how many children we’ll have or when we’re going to die (according to a “card reader’ who does readings in a dingy Boston apartment next to a Subway, I’ll have three kids with the dark-haired love of my life and die in my late 80s).

The most effective use for Tarot cards is in trying to gain clarity about a situation. The cards can reveal the universal forces at work around us. They can help us see obstacles we might be blind to. And, yes, they can hint at our future. We might not get our one true love’s initials from a reading, but we can gain a better understanding of what holds us back in love.

In writerly terms, a Tarot reading won’t hold all the answers. I’m sorry to report, Dear Reader, that I have not found the one true cure for writer’s block. But the cards do bring clarity. They help me understand the reasons for my lack of motivation. They help me see the forces at work around me that I couldn’t see before. In short, they are not a solution but a small step in the right direction.

So, Dear Reader, what do I want you to take away from this post? Part of me wants to tell everyone to get a Tarot card reading. (A reliable one, please. Don’t make my mistakes! The last thing you need if you’re suffering from writer’s block is a lady in a headscarf charging you 20$ to tell you how you’ll die.). Part of me wants to encourage you to learn your own cards (less risk of being ripped off). But, in truth, this isn’t about the cards. Not really. It’s about the slow and unsteady path to creating and about the small steps that get us there.

It doesn’t really matter whether our journey starts with just thinking about writing or a deck of cards or a moonlit ritual involving palm leaves and incantations (don’t ask). What matters is starting. What matters is that we find our way back after falling off the path—no matter how many times we have to do it.

Tonight, Dear Reader, I’m lighting a white candle, saying my prayers, and reading my cards. It’s not a novel, and it’s not an award-worthy blog post, but it is a start. I encourage you to take a small step today too.

Love,

Miss Breathing

I Miss Breathing

Dear Reader,

I am writing this from rock bottom. Well. Technically, I’m writing this on my MacBook Pro, from the comfort of an IKEA desk. So, safe to say my idea of rock bottom is fairly cushy.

The thing is, I’m unhappy. Plain and simple. I don’t have my shit together, and I never have. I just graduated from college with a degree in something I’m not even sure how to love anymore. I have no job and no real prospects. I just had to defer acceptance to my dream master’s program because I’m too sick to move to New York. I moved back into my old room in my mom’s house in a Florida town no one’s ever heard of, and I can’t stop reading my tarot cards about a guy I’m not likely to ever see again. I know things could be much, much worse, but damn if it doesn’t suck to be where I am right now. It’s a little hard to sound optimistic when everything is a muted shade of grey.

Earlier in the year, at that point in the semester where you still make an effort to keep up with assigned readings, I started reading “To Kill A Mockingbird” for a class. I’d been meaning to read it since the ninth grade (as if somehow my old English Honors teacher could telepathically sense I was reading classics and write me an encouraging note on Facebook Messenger about enriching my education), so I actually made an effort to read it. I’m big enough to admit I didn’t finish the novel. But I loved the 250ish pages that I did read. (I promise I’m not just saying that). I knew I really loved the book about two chapters in when Scout says,

“Until I feared I would lose it, I never loved to read. One does not love breathing.”

I am not exaggerating when I say that reading that made me cry (blame my period or my antidepressants if you like—I do!). I imagine part of this is because I share Scout’s feelings for the written word. The way I love bound books and loose pages and typed words and ink stains is, for me, as natural and primal as breathing. But that’s not all it was; when I first read this line, I was struck with a strong sense of loss. For the first time in a long time, I could not remember what it felt like to love things so deeply. To put it plainly, I missed breathing.

Several emotional breakdowns later, here I am. Determined now to recover my love for living. On a mission to find my lost love of breathing. Hence the name Miss Breathing. It’s kind of catchy, no?

But what exactly is this blog about? Like all great stories, mine starts with a quest: I’m going to write a novel. It won’t be perfect, but that’s a feeling I’ll need to learn to sit with. The process will be messy and the road bumpy. I’m riddled with insecurities about this project, and, more than anything else, I am absolutely terrified.

As I find myself standing still at the starting line, I keep thinking about one of my favorite tarot cards. It’s card number seventeen of the Major Arcana: The Star. It’s a card of good fortune, signifying universal powers at work in your favor. The Star says you can do anything, be anything, if only you put in the work and believe in yourself. The drawback? Nothing you do seems good enough to put out into the world. So now you’re standing there, all this creative energy alive inside of you, and absolutely nothing to show for it.

I’ve lost count of how many unfinished stories, scripts, poems, and novels I have. I used to think that if they weren’t perfect, they weren’t worth it. But the truth is I’m not writing the next American classic at twenty-one. It’s just not happening. That doesn’t mean I don’t have stories to tell. That doesn’t mean I shouldn’t try.

This blog signifies a lot for me. It’s going to serve as a documentation of how I get my shit together. It’s the place where I’m going to vent, share, rejoice, and moan about the process of writing my first novel. It’s going to be a writing blog. It’s going to be a self-care blog. It’s going to be a mind-dump. It’s going to be completely imperfect, and I am learning how to be okay with that. I’m going to share this crazy, messy, ugly journey out of rock bottom with whoever wants to read along. I can’t promise much, but I can promise it will be interesting!

I hope you’ll tag along!

Yours,

Miss Breathing