Amazing and totally legit prompts for blasting writer’s block

I think it’s time to admit it– I have writer’s block.

I was wondering when it would happen. It had to come eventually– there was no way I was going to make it through this project without encountering it at least once. As soon as I found myself writing an entire post about jeggings, I sensed its arrival, a big squat animal blocking the entrance to my creative portal and regaling me with stories about this one time it thought it saw Steven Tyler at the airport, but it just turned out to be a bag lady.

But not to worry– I’ve been here before, and I have a number of tried and true prompts for overcoming writer’s block, and because I’m a generous kind of gal, I figured I’d pass them on to you, in case you ever found yourself in the same spot.

Imagine elaborate scenarios in which I am wronged, but persevere anyway, and everyone feels really badly about it. In most of these creative exercises, I find myself hospitalized for some reason, usually due to an illness that I tried to warn people about, but no one believed me. Well, they believe me now, but now it’s too late. And when I get out of the hospital, I find piles of flowers on my doorstep, left by guilty well-wishers, but I just step over them, ready to go inside and begin a montage of myself weight-lifting and becoming stronger and nigh invulnerable. And when I finally re-emerge, everyone is like, OMG she is so strong for overcoming this disease that she totally warned us she had but we didn’t believe her and made her clean the bathroom anyway even though she said she was dying, and now she’s also super hot from all the weight lifting. She has Michelle Obama arms, and we are not worthy.

Celebrity road trip! Oh, no! Your favorite celebrity’s car inexplicably broke down in front of your house, because for some reason they were in the area and really wanted a scenic tour of The Septic Systems of Geauga County. It’s up to you to get them back to Hollywood! And also convince them that you are a glittering star that burns too brightly for this world! You will probably do this through the power of song, so you have to have the perfect playlist ready at all times. It must include both Dolly Parton’s “Jolene” and House of Pain’s “Jump Around,” but the rest is up to you. Go!

What is Britney Spears doing right now? Is she pooping? My first assumption is always that she’s pooping for some reason. But after the pooping, then what?

What do we get when we die? For some reason, I assume that death comes with a parting gift? Because it seems kind of shitty to make you leave all your cool stuff behind and show up to heaven without even a portable CD player or anything. My personal belief is that when we die, we will be handed a book that reveals every secret detail of our lives– the names of every person who ever secretly had a crush on us, but we didn’t know it, or everyone who just couldn’t stand us, or every time you nearly died but then didn’t, like if you stepped off a curb at the exact right moment to avoid being hit by a bus, or left the one e. coli tainted lettuce leaf lying at the bottom of your burrito bowl at Chipotle because lettuce is stupid. I, for one, am dying to get a copy of this book. No pun intended, although that would have been a pretty sweet pun, had I intended it.

Elton John fan fiction! Daniel, Honky Cat and Rocket Man meet in line to buy cartoon balloons in town. Hijinx ensue.

(Okay, full disclosure. I’ve never actually done that last one. But now I’m weirdly intrigued?)

Any one of those prompts should be enough to jumpstart even the most blocked brain, but feel free to combine them for some added oomph. What if your celebrity road trip ends in a car accident sending both you and Britney Spears to the hospital, where you have a near-death experience and get to read only the introduction to your Death Book (“Introduction: So, You’re Dead!”) before being dragged back to the present, only to be greeted by three bobbing Get Well balloons that appear to have been purchased from Levon?

The possibilities are endless! As is Britney Spears’ pooping, apparently.

My Purple Highlights: Monologue For a Young Blonde

[The stage is empty save one salon chair and vanity mirror, lit with a bright spotlight. A young blonde woman enters stage right, wearing a red and black buffalo check flannel shirt and black-and-tan leather boots, and stations herself wearily in the chair. She sort of looks like she just got done hunting? Like you half-expect her to have a bugle and be followed by a pack of hounds? But her hair is full of foil strips that catch the spotlight and dazzle. Once comfortably settled in her hydraulic lift throne, she speaks. ]

Woman: Where’s the nearest Chipotle? God, I love Chipotle. I know it’s killing people or whatever. But I only eat the sofritas? Because I fucking love tofu. Tofu is my weakness. And I feel like the sofritas are not going to have the colic. Right? Colic? Is that– collie? Colic? Whatever. The poops. You’re not going to get the poops from tofu.

I heard that they had the colic at the Chipotle at Legacy Village and I was like, oh em gee, I just ate the sofritas at the Chipotle at Legacy Village, and I could have died. It really teaches you something, you know? About life? When you almost die?

Speaking of dying. Did you see the new OJ Simpson movie? With the guy who won the Oscar for Radio? I think it was Radio. And Kris Kardashian is in it. I was like, whoa, time warp, I didn’t even know they had Kardashians in the 80s, too funny. I don’t know if Kris was like, with OJ at the time, or what– she really has some fucked-up taste in men, amirite?

You are a genius for giving me these purple highlights. I fucking love my purple highlights. Because you can’t even tell they’re in there. They’re like an optical illusion. They just, like, highlight the blonde.


Oh my God.


I get why they call them highlights.