Have ever been sitting in front of your screen, and just stared on it without knowing what to write? No? Then move on. Nothing of interest here for you.
If you’re still here, I assume that you’ve experienced that situation. And yesterday I watched a short clip that inspired me to write about what to do in those cases, and how to write better and more fluently.
This is the clip – watch it, and then read on.
The take away is: Write about what you know.
And Ricky Gervais makes it sound so easy. He got the best grade just by writing about a boring experience. Can you really do that?
Well, I know that one of the best teachers I’ve ever had was a biology teacher in college. All the girls were in love with him. He wasn’t exactly Brad Pitt to look at, but he was cute. And he had this gift… He could talk about ANYTHING and make it interesting.
I remember the first time I made that observation. He’d told us that next time he would explain how a microscope worked. I knew how it worked, so I wasn’t exactly looking forward to this class. And yet… I just sat there, hypnotized, and listened to every word he said.
He spoke about things he knew. Even boring things. And he made them interesting.
This is good news for lazy writers, but you might already know it…
If you hate to write about something, and you don’t feel comfortable, because you don’t know enough about it… how is the result?
Bad, right? Yeah, it sucks!
To be honest, I know some writers who can write about topics they know nothing about, and they can make it read well. I admire their talent. I don’t have it.
I have to be familiar with my topic, but then I can write fast about it.
The Rick Gervais clip brought back memories from high-school. Our teacher had told us to write an essay about the month we hated the most. I chose February, and I wrote about how I burned my fingers using my curly iron out of metal, and where the plastic on the clamp lever had broken off.
I got the highest grade for this essay, and I can assure you: I knew my topic. I didn’t have to do any research at all. Burning my fingers was all it took. And then I shared the pain with my teacher.
But what if it’s really, really boring?
When I still lived in Denmark, one day my stomach started to hurt. It got worse and worse, and the third day it was really bad.
So bad that I decided to go to the doctor.
I don’t like that. Although I’m a woman, I behave like most men when it comes to visiting doctors. I avoid them, and I do it effectively by rarely catching any diseases. However, here I was with a stomach that kept hurting and it had become really painful by now.
“I fear that you had an apendicitis,” he told me. And then he sent me off directly to the hospital.
It was a Wednesday morning.
I arrived at the hospital at 9, and then I was put in their ugly clothing, white socks, white shirt, put on a stretcher, and left in an empty room with bare walls.
There I lay…
My pain had settled down, and I started to feel really stupid. Maybe this was nothing? Maybe I was lying here in the hospital and there was nothing wrong with me? I could imagine the embarasing moment when a doctor finally examined me, looked at me with disgust for wasting everybody’s time and sending me home.
I hoped for my pain to come back. But it had gone.
Should I call a nurse and tell her that this was a mistake? That I would go home now? And tell them that I was very sorry, and it would never happen again?
But no nurse looked in to me. I just lay there. Nothing to drink. Nothing to eat. Nothing to do.
And I remember thinking:
If my life were a movie, I would cut those scenes.
Then finally, a doctor arrived, and they made tests and I don’t know what and then they told me:
“You have an apendicitis. We’re going to operate.”
I was SO releaved! Yay! I WAS ill! Great!
Three days later they sent me home. I couldn’t get out of bed myself, but it was Friday and they had to get rid of all the patients that wasn’t close to dying.
So there I was, back home with my boyfriend, who was angry, because he’d planned a tour to visit friends, and now he had to take care of me.
I’ve never been very good at choosing a partner. It seems that every time I kiss a prince, he turns into a frog. No, I’m not hinting at my present husband who’s French.
Those days weren’t funny either, but I got through.
What do you know? What could you write a blog post about? Or a book? Let ME know in the comments 🙂