Why Writer’s Block Is A Lie

The Real Reason Comedians Run Out of Ideas (Comedy Mindhacks #122)

Throughout my career as a professor, public speaker, content creator, and author, I’ve written thousands of blog articles, created thousands of podcast episodes, delivered thousands of sermons and classroom lectures, given nearly a hundred conference presentations, written around forty books, and now spend an embarrassing amount of time writing stand-up comedy. Whenever people hear that list, they usually respond the same way: “I don’t know how you do it.” It’s always meant as a compliment, and I’m grateful for it.

Over the years, though, I’ve started hearing a question hiding inside that statement. I don’t think people are merely wondering how I produce so much. I think they’re asking, “How do you never seem to run out of ideas?” Many seem to expect to respond with some tips about discipline, consistency, or work ethic. Those things certainly matter, and I don’t want to minimize them. The longer I’ve written, however, the less convinced I’ve become that they’re the real answer. In fact, I think the answer has surprisingly little to do with writing itself. It has, instead, everything to do with curiosity.

That may sound overly simplistic, but I really do think it’s that simple. I stay curious. I’m always paying attention to what’s happening around me, and I’ve trained myself to notice things most people walk right past. As both a writing professor and a comedian, I’ve lost count of how many people have told me they’re suffering from writer’s block. They’ll tell me they haven’t written anything in weeks because the ideas just aren’t coming anymore. Some begin wondering whether they’ve somehow lost whatever made them creative in the first place.

The longer I’ve thought about those conversations, the less convinced I’ve become that writer’s block is actually the problem. In fact, I don’t think writer’s block exists, at least not in the way most people describe it. I think it’s a myth that sounds profound because it lets us stop asking harder questions. It’s an easy way out and it makes people feel like a victim of something they can’t help. And, of course, people love not taking responsibility and, even more, playing the victim. Eventually, I realized there was a much better explanation. I started calling it “Observation Debt.”

Observation debt happens when we stop paying attention and stop collecting raw material while continuing to expect our brains to produce fresh ideas. It’s the creative equivalent of trying to make withdrawals from a bank account after months of making no deposits. Eventually the account runs dry, but it isn’t because the bank failed. It’s because nothing new has been added. Comedy works exactly the same way.

I think this explains far more than the idea of writer’s block ever has. We convince ourselves we’ve run out of creativity when what we’ve actually run out of is curiosity. We’ve stopped noticing. We’ve stopped collecting. We’ve stopped feeding the creative process while somehow expecting it to keep producing anyway.

Looking back, I think my years as a preacher prepared me for comedy in ways I never expected. Every week I had to stand in front of people with something worth saying, so I learned to move through life with my eyes and ears all the way open all the time. Stories, illustrations, overheard conversations, and unexpected moments were constantly presenting themselves because I was constantly looking for them. I trained myself to be curious and that habit has never disappeared. It simply followed me from the pulpit to the comedy world.

And that’s why I don’t think writer’s block is really about writing at all. Writing is simply the visible part of a much longer process. Long before a joke reaches a notebook, a Notes app, or a microphone, it first has to be noticed. If nothing is being collected, there’s nothing left to develop. The writing isn’t the problem in other words; the noticing and collecting ideas is.

I’ve met comedians who insist they have no new material while simultaneously admitting they don’t carry a notebook or use a note-taking app. They don’t record voice memos. They trust themselves to remember ideas later, and later almost never arrives. Then they conclude they’ve run out of creativity when what they’ve really run out of is captured observations. That’s not writer’s block. That’s observation debt. And that’s probably what leads to joke theft from time to time, too.

I also think we’ve misunderstood creativity itself. Most people imagine it works like plumbing. They wait for inspiration to turn on the faucet, and when nothing comes out, they assume something inside them has broken. My experience has been almost the opposite. Creativity behaves much more like farming than plumbing. You don’t harvest what you never planted.

That’s one reason I’m constantly writing things down. Most of what I record never becomes a joke, and I’m perfectly fine with that. Some observations sit in my notes for months or even years before they finally connect with something else. Others become podcast episodes, classroom illustrations, blog articles, or stories I share with my wife or friends. I don’t know what will matter later, so I try not to decide too early.

I actually think the most dangerous part of writer’s block isn’t that people stop writing. The most dangerous part is the story they begin telling themselves afterward. One empty notebook somehow quietly becomes evidence that they’re no longer creative. One slow month turns into a new identity. Before long, they’re no longer saying, “I’m having trouble writing.” They’re saying, “Maybe I’m just not that creative anymore.”

That’s why I find the idea of observation debt so much more helpful and hopeful. It doesn’t suggest something inside you has broken. It simply suggests you’ve stopped making deposits. That’s a very different diagnosis because it comes with a very different solution. Attention is a skill, curiosity is a choice, and both can be strengthened.

These days I no longer wake up wondering whether inspiration is going to show up. I wake up expecting the world to hand me something worth noticing because, almost without fail, it does. That’s become the rhythm of my creative life, and it’s one of the greatest gifts comedy has ever given me. So when people ask how I keep coming up with ideas, I don’t talk about discipline or productivity anymore. I just tell them the truth: I stay curious.

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