Tag Archives: writers-block

Strike First, Strike Hard, No Mercy… for Writer’s Block: How Karate Kid and Cobra Kai Taught Me Everything About the Writing Life

If you’ve spent any time around me, you’ll know two things are unequivocally true: I breathe stories, and I am absolutely, unashamedly, irrevocably obsessed with The Karate Kid saga, especially its sensational revival, Cobra Kai. Like many writers, I am, deep down, Miyagi-Do through and through—I believe in balance, discipline, and finding the profound truth in simple mechanics.

But Cobra Kai taught me to love the Strike Hard ethos, because it showed me the power of a redemption story done right. The series has become an unexpected, profound masterclass in my other great passion: writing.

Yes, you read that right. Beyond the brilliant soundtrack, the epic fight choreography, and the glorious return of 80s icons, Cobra Kai isn’t just a show about karate. It’s a sprawling, multi-layered narrative about redemption, rivalry, perspective, and the relentless pursuit of purpose. And for a writer, it’s an absolute goldmine of hard-earned truths. So grab your karate gi, clear your mind, and prepare for the longest, most passionate blog post you’ll read today, because we’re about to explore how the dojos of the Valley forged me into a better storyteller.

The Foundations: Wax On, Words On—The Discipline of Craft

Even as a Miyagi-Do writer who instinctively favours defence and balance, the original Karate Kid laid the groundwork for understanding the essence of any craft. Mr. Miyagi’s seemingly mundane chores—polishing cars, sanding floors—were never just about cleaning. They were about building muscle memory, discipline, and understanding fundamentals.

As writers, how often do we want to jump straight to the “crane kick”—the dazzling plot twist, the profound monologue, the viral blog post? Mr. Miyagi taught us that mastery comes from the basics. We learn that “Wax On, Wax Off” is really Editing. It’s the tedious, repetitive work of polishing sentences, strengthening verbs, and removing clutter, one word at a time, until the surface gleams. It’s not glorious, but it’s essential for structural integrity. Similarly, “Sand the Floor” is Planning. It’s the foundational work that seems separate from the creative act but provides the stability for everything that comes after. Without a solid structure, your narrative will wobble and eventually collapse. And finally, “Paint the Fence” is Daily Word Count. It’s the consistent, disciplined effort of showing up, day after day, and laying down new words, even when you don’t feel inspired. It builds stamina and resilience. You can’t wait for inspiration; you have to earn it through discipline.

Johnny Lawrence: The Best 80s Antagonist, The Best 21st Century Protagonist

This is the true genius of Cobra Kai, and why every single writer should study Johnny Lawrence. He was the perfect, one-dimensional, hair-metal-loving bully of 1984. But in the 2010s, he became the main character we desperately needed.

For decades, Johnny was the villain, the baddie in Daniel LaRusso’s heroic tale. Cobra Kai flipped the script, giving him his own point of view, his own dojo to rebuild, and his own quest for redemption. He transitioned from the best 80s antagonist to the best 21st century protagonist.

This evolution is the ultimate lesson in perspective, character development, and narrative daring for writers.

The Barney Stinson Blueprint is key here. Johnny Lawrence’s arc is successful for the same reason characters like Barney Stinson from How I Met Your Mother resonated. You take a deeply flawed, often toxic character—one who is hilarious, misguided, and stuck in the past—and you give them a painful, genuine, and often relatable path toward being a better person. We cheer for Johnny not when he’s perfect, but when he fails spectacularly and then gets back up. Redemption must be earned, not given. Johnny’s path is a glorious, two-steps-forward-one-step-back disaster, full of cock-ups and bad decisions. This teaches us the power of writing complex characters who evolve authentically. Change is messy, and your character arcs should be messy, too. We want characters who scrape and fight for their better selves.

Moreover, we must embrace the flawed voice. Johnny’s voice is hilarious, unpolished, and frequently inappropriate. Yet, it’s undeniably his. As a writer, I, the meticulous Miyagi-Do student, learned from Johnny to sometimes strike hard with a messy, authentic first draft. You have to allow that raw, imperfect voice onto the page before you can sand it down and polish it. Johnny reminds me that sometimes the most compelling stories aren’t from the expected hero; they are from the bloke who was supposed to be the footnote. He teaches us that every story deserves a second chance.

Daniel LaRusso: The Peril of Dogma and the Virtue of Adaptability

While Johnny represents the fresh start, Daniel embodies a different, equally vital lesson for writers: the danger of becoming stuck in your ways, even good ways.

As a writer who leans into the Miyagi-Do tenets of balance and defence, I understand Daniel’s rigidity. But Cobra Kaiforces him to face his own blind spots: Stagnation kills the narrative. Daniel’s initial inability to see Johnny’s attempt at reform stems from his rigid worldview. As writers, we fall into similar traps when we cling to a specific genre, an unworkable planning method, or a writing voice that isn’t resonating, simply because it’s “our way.” Dogma is the enemy of creativity. You must also realise that you must adapt or die. The writing landscape is identical to the Valley karate world. Trends shift, platforms change, and reader expectations evolve. Clinging too tightly to an outdated style or an unworkable plot can lead to your story—or your career—being left behind. You must learn new moves.

Ultimately, fusion is the future. The eventual alliance between Miyagi-Do and Cobra Kai teaches us the power of blending philosophies. I need Miyagi-Do for the foundation, but I need Johnny’s Cobra Kai spirit to finish the story and promote it fiercely. The best writing happens when discipline meets daring.

Kreese and Terry Silver: The Cult of a Toxic Writing Voice

John Kreese and Terry Silver are not just villains; they are toxic ideologies made manifest. They represent the worst possible advice a writer can receive:

“No Mercy” is the Toxic Writing Voice. This is the internal editor that demands every sentence be perfect on the first draft, the voice that tells you your ideas are rubbish, and the one that demands you tear down everyone else’s work. It’s the voice of self-sabotage and writer’s block. Mercy for the first draft is essential. The Flattery of Easy Power is another danger. Silver and Kreese offer their students a quick path to power through aggression. For a writer, this is the temptation to chase fleeting trends, write only for clicks, or use sensationalism instead of substance. It’s easy, but it ultimately hollows out your work and your purpose. True power comes from honest, balanced storytelling.

The Final Lesson: What’s Your Dojo?

Cobra Kai asks a fundamental question of every character: Which philosophy defines you?

As a writer, I now ask myself: What is my dojo? I am a Miyagi-Do writer who values craft, but I need the redemption-seeking, Strike Hard energy of Johnny Lawrence to push past fear, finish the manuscript, and put my voice out into the world.

So, the next time writer’s block paralyses you, remember the lessons of the Valley. Don’t let fear win. Don’t be a spectator. Don’t let your inner Kreese tell you you’re not good enough.

You have the skill, you have the heart, and you have the story. Sweep the leg of self-doubt and write!

When the Well Runs Dry: On Facing the Blank Page and Finding Your Way Back

For every writer, there comes a moment when the page is not just blank, but feels impossibly so. The cursor blinks relentlessly, a tiny, mocking heartbeat in a sea of white. The brilliant ideas you once had seem to have vanished, and the words you need feel locked away, just beyond your reach. This is writer’s block, and it’s a feeling every single creative person, no matter how seasoned or successful, has faced.

It’s easy to feel defeated in this moment, to believe that you’ve lost the knack, that the well of your creativity has run dry for good. But I want to remind you of a simple, crucial truth: a writer’s block is not a sign of failure. It is a natural part of the creative cycle, a period of rest and recalibration for your mind. It is your brain’s quiet way of telling you to step back and refill the well.

So, how do you find your way back?

The Courage to Step Away

The first step to overcoming the blank page is often to walk away from it. The pressure to produce can be paralysing. Instead of forcing it, give yourself permission to do something else entirely. Read a book, listen to an album, go for a walk without a destination in mind. Pay attention to the world around you—the snippets of conversation, the way the light hits a building, the feeling of a cold wind on your face.

This isn’t procrastination. This is research. You are refilling your senses, gathering new raw material, and allowing your subconscious mind to work on the problem in the background. The story isn’t lost; it’s simply waiting for you to find a different door to enter.

An Academic Application

The very same principles apply when facing a blank page for an essay or a research paper. The logical, methodical brain that works so hard to construct a solid argument can get just as stuck as the creative one. When you hit that wall, stepping away to visit a museum, listen to a lecture, or simply read a book for pleasure is not a waste of time. It’s a vital act of cross-pollination. You are allowing yourself to encounter new theories, ideas, and connections that your mind can then use to find a new pathway back to your original argument.

When the Words Won’t Come at All

Sometimes, the feeling is more profound than a simple lack of ideas. It’s an internal silence, a sense of being so overwhelmed by thoughts and feelings that you’re unable to articulate them at all. In these moments, you don’t need a plot outline or a list of synonyms. What you need is to be gentle with yourself. Take the pressure off. You are not a machine built for constant output. Try writing not to build a story, but simply to release. Just put the words “I feel overwhelmed” on the page and see what comes next, with no judgment. This isn’t about finding the perfect phrase; it’s about acknowledging the feeling and allowing your mind to breathe.

Reconnecting with the Joy

Sometimes, writer’s block is a symptom of having forgotten the simple joy of storytelling. We get so caught up in plot, character arcs, and chapter outlines that we forget the initial spark that brought us to the page.

Try these small, low-stakes exercises to reconnect with that original feeling of play:

  • Write for yourself: Open a new document and write something that no one else will ever see. Describe a childhood memory, list things that make you happy, or free-write for ten minutes about whatever comes to mind.
  • Change the medium: If you’re stuck on a story, try drawing a scene, creating a mind map on a large piece of paper, or even acting out a dialogue between two characters.
  • Give yourself a challenge: Set a ridiculous, no-pressure goal, like writing the worst possible sentence you can, just to break the cycle of perfectionism.

The blank page is not an enemy to be defeated, but a reminder to be patient with yourself. It’s an invitation to slow down, to listen, and to trust that your story, and your voice, will find their way back to you. The well isn’t dry; it’s just gathering a new and richer water.