Any fiction writers here?

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Art block and burnout can both be tiring. I know I've certainly had days where I've had no ideas. Perfectionism can be a difficult hurdle to jump over, making you not want to start out of the fear that it'll never be good enough. I like to think of my art as a thought experiment rather than an extension of myself, the problem / prompt being 'I want to express a particular subject or idea, how do I convey this concept?' and then there's trail and error finding a solution to the prompt.

I know it can be an easy trap to fall into, thinking of your art as being a reflection of yourself and that if it fails then you have failed as a person. However, I find this way of thinking to be unhealthy. Everyone starts out somewhere. It doesn't have to be perfect, it just has to be an answer to a question. That answer can be refined with time and practice.

A game I used to like to play was to write the worst possible story in existence that I could. We're talking every bad trope exaggerated to absurdity. I'd allow myself to write utter nonsense for a couple of pages, then read it back and try not to laugh. Of course, laughter sometimes couldn't be helped. That was part of the fun of it. Sometimes challenging others to outdo the awfulness of the story.

I also liked to play a game where I'd write a sentence, then someone else would write another and so on. Usually one of us would have to write in a serious tone, whilst the other would write in a goofy style. It made for an entertaining read.

For me, there are two types of art. The kind I make for work and the type I make just for fun. Sometimes it can be good to just create without worrying too much about quality. The important thing is to answer the prompt (how can I communicate this concept / idea?) then refine it later. However, taking breaks is also important. Going off to do something else for a short while can lead to ideas when you're stuck, plus it can be good to just get out and do other things.

Why is April acting so mentally slowly, like she hasn't slept in a month and why did Splinter call her 'Shredder'?

It's just an excerpt from Stephen King Carrie, with a few words changed. That's why.

Well I've blown it now, everybody knows I'm a plagiarist. It's just too hard to be a real Writer. But Here's an ORIGINAL story I been working on now. Just for fun.

This one is called "The Secret Club." Narrator is Protagonist.

CHAPTER ONE.
I'm somewhat famous in Hollywood. I work on TV. You met me at a very strange time in my life. There is a secret club in the basement of Walt Disney Studios. After the bar closes, and every week you go and there's strange cast of characters.
A mysterious figure with a green triangular-pointed collar lurks under the one light in the middle of the black concrete basement and you can see that light flickering back out of the dark while a gay couple, Bertrand and Ernest, hold hands.
His name is Kermit Frogson. He is our leader. He has ping pong balls for eyes. Kermit never knew why his father Jim decided to create him all those years ago. We are the all-singing, all-dancing crap of the world. Kermit knows self-improvement isn't the answer. Kermit thinks that maybe self-destruction is the answer.
First thing Kermit yells is, "The first rule about Muppet club is you don't talk about Muppet club.
"The second rule about Muppet club," Kermit yells, "is you don't friggin talk about frigging Muppet club. Especially not to Miss Piggy!!"
Me, I knew Jim for about six years, but I don't remember anything. He started a new show in a new town about every year. This isn't so much like a family as it's like he sets up a franchise. What you see at Muppet club is a bunch of disillusioned marionettes created out of felt fabric beating the sh1t out of each other for kicks.

Kermit standing under the one light in the after-midnight blackness of a basement strumming a Banjo. Kermit runs through the other rules: two puppets per fight, one fight at a time, no biting, no scratching, no fingering of the a$$hole, fights go on as long as they have to.
"And the seventh rule," Kermit yells, "is if this is your first night at Muppet club, you have get naked and fight."

Last week, I tickled Elmo and he and I got on the list for a fight. He must've had a bad week on Sesame Street, got both my arms behind my head in a full nelson and rammed my face into the concrete floor until it ripped open the inside of my felt and my beaded eye had to be stitched back on, and after I said, "stop, please Elmo stop, you're hurting me." I could look down and there was a strands of material of half my fabric on the floor.

A green Kermit stood next to me, laughing in that high pitched voice of his, both of us looking down at the little slit of my beady eye staring up at us from the floor, and Kermit says, " "Hi Ho Everyone! That was cool."
I shake Elmo's hand and say, good fight. Then Big Bird says, "How about next week?"
I try to smile against all the torn fabric, and I say, look at me I need to be repaired. How about next month?

You aren't alive anywhere like you're alive at Muppet club. But that was just the beginning, now it's called Project Muppet Mayhem. There's hysterical shouting in tongues like at church, Gonzo, Animal, Cookie monster, Rizzo the Rat, We've all beaten the sh1t out of each other. And it was a blast. And when you wake up Monday Morning ready to go back to the workshop, with a mans hand up your ass, you feel saved.

Writer's block... it happens, of course. But right now, I'm under a lot of stress. Still living in a place with lots of COVID restrictions, with exams just a few weeks away, a deadline at work while the platform I need for my doing my job not working at all and then I'm about to move to a place where I will need a car and it's not clear what has to be done to repair my old one (it hasn't been moved in about 2 years).

I'm functioning at about 30% of my usual capacity, with at least 2 catatonic episodes per day (avoiding meds for that because I need to be alert).

The only thing I seem to get done without problems is writing

Maybe if i can trick my brain, I could write a book, but the pressure of knowing I'd be attempting to write a book, would f me up right from the start. I heard blogging is good training. Just write a small piece at a time, no pressure. Then you could always compile it together , once the thing grows...