B.R. Black

Thriller and Horror writer

Author: B.R. Black

  • Time blocking and writer’s block

    There’s nothing I love more than a YouTube video that promises to solve all my procrastination problems and anxieties about productivity only to see, three minutes in, that it’s another argument for time-blocking.

    I have learned to scan the timeline of each video, previewing frame by frame, to look for the candy-colored grid that will inevitably show up in these ‘tutorials.’ “Let me show you how I plan my week,” they will say in dialects of enthusiasm and twee and then explain how their particularly busy influencer life can be broken down into Tetris-like blocks that always fit well.

    High Score!

    If I sound cynical, it’s because I am. Having undiagnosed anxiety for most of my life left me feeling demoralized when it comes to productivity. I couldn’t produce or create what I wanted. I couldn’t stay on task. I couldn’t follow through.

    I would always be a failure.

    Then I started to realize that these tools, suggestions, tutorials, classes, courses, the entire world of productivity influencers focused mainly on people with typical brains. By typical, I mean brains wired to properly work in our capitalistic-achievement society. Perhaps typical is the wrong word.

    Perhaps they have “preferred” brains.

    What I want to say to you, and give you permission to say to yourself, is that time-blocking is one way to schedule your day, or give priority to your goals, but it’s not the only way.

    For me, blocking out my day created too rigid of a structure. And it was a structure built for failure. The confinement of all those colorful boxes on my calendar made me excited to see all the things I would accomplish, but this only lasted during their creation.

    Once set up, the slightest adjustment or distraction, meant I slammed up against the bottom of a blue or red box and had to switch tasks to stay on track.

    Hold on, I’d built the track and could rearrange it. But then that added another task to the list and the boxes all fit so nicely together, to insert five minutes to shift everything would ruin the aesthetic of the whole… Aaaaaaaaagh.

    See? For me, the anxiety of the grid took over my thinking and I could never really focus on my writing (or other work for that matter). Time blocking blocked my writing.

    Over time I’ve noticed that my biggest area of anxiety is transitions, from one task to another or one place to another. And realizing this has allowed me to think more strategically about my time use with fewer boundaries. I’ll explore more of that in a later post.

    For now, just remember what works for everyone else isn’t the right way to do things, it’s just their way to do things. We can all find new ways together.

    Image courtesy of Gerd Altmann from Pixabay

  • Is time ever truly wasted?

    The last post here was another apology for not posting post and in the many months since then I’ve spent time avoiding another post. More accurately, I’ve been not thinking about posting at all.

    I don’t know what the larger community could gain from my perspective. More accurately, I don’t reach a larger community at all.

    Other writers have talked about impostor syndrome, procrastination, depression, anxiety, ADHD, writer’s block, and all of the maladies that impact creative endeavors now in the shadow of our inevitable collapse.

    Collapse of what, you ask? What you got?

    I am struggling to finish what I’ve started and am blocking myself from starting something new. The projects that may hold my attention now will soon dull under my fickle gaze and molder as the last projects do now. My world is a stack of half-finished notebooks and sticky notes of genius gradually losing their grip.

    Why should anyone listen to me? I’m just another person who can’t finish their shit.

    I wonder about the writing influencers out there, the ones on YouTube or Instagram who are generous and copious in the amount of author content they produce, but how little actual writing they seem to share. Maybe you don’t have to finish anything to be part of this game. Maybe I’m doing it right?

    Is it a game? Is there a right?

    I’ve overcome a couple of obstacles recently: a professional achievement and a prescription. I would like to assert that I needed both to be able to have the space mentally to write, but that would be a lie. That is revisionist history. I have always had the mental space to write. What I never had was the permission.

    From myself. You know that right?

    So I am once again asking for your guidance as I rebegin again. I hope I can follow through this time. Your neurotypical motivation is lost on me, so just nod slowly and smile and get back to your own shit.

  • Rising from the depths…

    …and dripping on your carpet. Sorry.

    June 1st…okay 2nd…seems like a good time to return to the world after an extended slump and depressive period, to be completely honest. It’s not that I didn’t want to be writing, but that I had too much writing I wanted to do and the traffic jam between my brain and fingers caused a major blockage.

    I’m still working on the traffic metaphor.

    I’ve hired and editor for Art History and I’m already excited about how that story will finish up. The second in the Woodlawn Romance series is bubbling on the back brain burner and I’m hoping to get that written in late summer.

    I’m not launching that one on Vella, I don’t think, but as a stand-alone novella. And I’ll be repackaging Art History as a novella, too.

    Would is getting a full polish, so it may be unavailable for any new readers for a bit. While I revise early chapters, Vella “unpublishes them”, but I won’t be uploading anything new until they’re all done. Season 2: Slake should be ending at the end of June (barring any techno trouble).

    Season 3: Quench will start in early fall. Season 4: Flood will follow soon after, wrapping up the serial version by the end of the year.

    Thanks for reading this far and your interest and your everything.

    Photo by Kat Smith