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“Death, Denial & Writer’s Block”
When my dad died in March of 2022, it felt like all my words had dried up. Sure, I scribbled notes and comics and stories. And as a copywriter and Creative Director, I continued to write for a living. But I lost my will to write anything with a larger canvas — like the proposal for our first collection of Background Noise Comics or my novel projects. I called it writer’s block and it felt like a sea of malaise.
A surge before the shit show
Weirdly, before my dad died, while he was in hospice, I bubbled with creativity. I took copious notes for comics. I wrote poems about the beauty of falling snow. I edited short stories and revised drafts of my novel.
The quiet of my father's death bed was a strangely relaxing place. I drove the 2 hours from Brooklyn to his hospice in Rockland County where I grew up, and I'd sit in the room with him on an uncomfortable couch in the semi-dark. The snow fell outside the wide window onto a lawn edged by a sprinkle of woods.
"Look, Daddy," I'd say, "There's a cardinal on that Japanese maple."
He'd open his eyes and stare vacantly at the window.
"I can't see what you're talking about."
"I'm going to write a poem about it. You want to hear?"
