Writer's Block

I often feel the urge to write even though I have nothing worth writing.

Most of the time, I call it writer's block--that's what it is, after all, isn't it? I want to write, to self-express (as Kevin Smith puts it, for instance), but the words are not forthcoming. I often wonder if others face these problems in their mediums of choice. Do artists sometimes not know what to draw? Do the lines just never feel right? The same could be said of musicians and their notes, or sculptures and the clay available to them.

Sometimes--nearly all of the time, in fact--it feels as though the words are there to write what I desire, but the structure is absent. Even now I'm writing largely off-the-cuff, having not known what would spill outward once I started typing into the posting interface on Blogger.  But what I'm writing now isn't what I want to write. It's just a misdirection, meant to trick my fingers and slightly alcohol addled brain into thinking the motions are in the proper place.

I do not, to be honest, understand writer's block. Most of often when I encounter it, the impetus to create is present: that desire inexplicable by any other means but to "self-express" in some fashion or another. For me, that fashion has always been one of words--I lack the talent to turn pencil strokes into recognition except by the arbitrary meanings of alphabet characters strung in still more arbitrary sequences. The words, indeed, are forthcoming, but that thing the words are necessary for: the scene, the character, the theme, the message...these are ephemeral, elusive.