There is no worse feeling for a fiction writer than coming to a grinding halt in the middle of a story. One day all of your engines are firing, sentence after sentence pours out of you like hot metal, almost faster than you can type – it’s like the characters are alive inside your head and all you need to do is write down what they’re doing. You love the story you are writing and you know that everyone else in the entire world is going to love it, too. You are thinking that at the rate you are going, you’ll be finished by the new year, and rich and famous by next summer (or at least critically acclaimed within the decade).
And then the next day, the magic vanishes. You sit down at your computer as you always do, you start to key in words — but these words don’t fit with the words you wrote yesterday, nor do they even fit with each other very well. So you delete them. You try another sentence. Nope. Nothing good is happening on the screen. You tell yourself that you should ease up on yourself: this isn’t the final draft, it’s just the first one. It doesn’t have to be perfect. But still it isn’t working.
You get up and pace. You lie on your back on your bed or on the floor, and you start feeling nauseated. You go back to the computer, but you find yourself checking Facebook instead of writing. You read the news. You play an online game. Only at the end of the day, do you give up — hoping that tomorrow will return you to your state of authorial grace.
But tomorrow, it’s the same or worse. So you start reading back through what you wrote before you hit the wall — and, horror of horrors — you wonder if that part is any good either.
One day you reach a point where you can’t even bring yourself to open the file where you have saved your story.
What to do?
Some writing gurus will tell you to just keep going. They’ll tell you not to worry about whether what you’re putting down is good or bad… they’ll insist you must simply carry on. “Keep getting your daily quota down on paper,” they say, “and it will all work out.” They will cheerily suggest that you stop the day’s work in the middle of a paragraph so that you can carry on tomorrow … as if you could even write half a paragraph today.
Well, I’ve tried following that advice. As a result, I have printouts of several drafts of a novel called White Work in a box somewhere that, taken together, weigh about 20 lbs. White Work will never be complete because I kept going as advised, and never did find my way out of the mess I was making of it. Everything I did just made it worse. I grew sick and tired of it. Twenty years later, I still can’t look at it.
On other occasions when I’ve hit a wall, I’ve put the project aside, afraid of wrecking it. I’ve decided to wait until inspiration returned. Eventually a couple of those projects went into the fireplace or into my filing cabinet or still languish on my computer, unfinished. When I look at them I have no idea where I was going with them, what made me so keen about them in the first place.
In other words, if you don’t deal with them when they first show up, little blocks can grow into big problems.
Meeting the Block Head-on
I have finally found a solution that works for me when I run into a block, and I hope it works for you as well. It’s not really a solution, I suppose: it’s more of an awareness that you can turn into plan of action.
I have learned that when I find it impossible to move forward on a project, it is because there is something important about the story that I do not know.
Not knowing something erodes my confidence, and when I lack confidence I can’t write. Trying to move forward becomes like trying to walk across a frozen pond when I am not sure whether the ice is solid enough to hold me. My fear of seeing the ice begin to crack, of sinking into the deadly water — of getting trapped beneath the ice — becomes greater than my certainty that I can make it to the other side. I start to slow down, and then I stop. And that’s when I start sinking.
So now, when I find myself grinding to a halt in the middle of a story – as I did recently in my new novel, Seeds and Secrets (which you can watch me writing on Wattpad, one chapter at time, if you are interested) – I ask myself, “What do I not know about this story and its characters that I need to know before I can move on?” (There are lots of things I don’t need to know. I’m not talking about those things.)
“Where have I taken a wrong step?” I ask myself. “How did I get myself out here where the ice is so thin? When is the last time I felt myself on solid ground, and how do I get back there so I can once again move forward strongly?”
Kinds of Missing Information
What I don’t know about my story might be something small. For example, maybe the daughter of my main character was traumatized by the 9-11 coverage, but I’ve just realized that she could not have been traumatized by that event because she wasn’t even born when it occurred. Now I need to change everybody’s age in the whole story, or find the child another trauma.
Or maybe it’s a medium-sized problem. Maybe I haven’t spent enough time thinking about my main character’s best friend. I don’t know why she has turned into such a bitter adult. I realize that I need to spend some time thinking about what led her to become the woman she is now. (I may not actually include this information in my novel, but it’s clear to me that I do need to know it before I can move on.)
Or it might be a really big problem, which is, in my case, what almost always happens when I don’t know how a story is going to turn out. Some writers just keep on writing with no real plot in mind, hoping for the best, and some of those writers get lucky. (Or maybe, as in the case of Marcel Proust and Karl Ove Knausgaard, they just keep writing, and writing, and writing, until they stop.) But most authors, like me, need to know the ending before they can write the middle, or they will come to a grinding halt. (That’s what happened with White Work).
In order overcome a block and move on, sometimes I just need to go back a bit and fix something to make the story feel right again, as in the case of the trauma incident. Sometimes I need to draw a map or a floor plan or a family tree to make sure I’ve got my directions and dates and connections right. And sometimes I have a bigger job ahead of me: I need to figure out and then make notes on the balance of the plot, so I can see where I am going. (In Seeds and Secrets, my most recent problem turned out to be minor: I realized that I had no idea what career my central character had taken up as her employment as an adult: i.e., in the novel’s present tense. I had to decide what career path she’d chosen and how that path logically arose from what had happened to her when she was younger.)
To find missing information in my novel, the last place I want to look is at the novel itself. (That’s where the information is missing from, so why would I look for it there?) Instead, I often find it useful to go for a walk or head to the gym. For some reason, if I deliberately force myself to think about the problem while I’m sweating, the answer usually comes to me. Other times, I take my computer to a coffee shop or a park where I try to shake the solution loose — in my experience, a change of setting is much more likely to create a missing piece than is lying on the bed, staring in panic at the ceiling.
Once I’ve figured out what I don’t know about my novel, and have filled in the necessary cracks in what I’ve already written, I find that the ground again feels solid, and I am able to move forward. The book itself feels better — stronger — when I’ve done this. It’s sort of like turning writers’ blocks into construction materials. And when you know how to do that, you almost start to welcome those blocks when they start to crash down in front of you and bring you to a halt. (Almost.) You realize that if you don’t fix the problem, you are going to sink for sure. But you also begin to trust that you can fix it, given some time and focus, and that when you have – when you’ve made the ground strong enough again to hold you – the readers who follow after will find it strong as well.
photo credit: turbulentflow via photopin cc
Hi Mary – I just happened to be sitting at my computer when this new post (the email announcing it) popped in. I was reminded of an interview that I heard not so long ago of Gillian Flynn (of Gone Girl fame). She said that she wrote out very extensive back stories of her characters – not for use in the book, but just as a way of this same sort of problem solving. I am sure it adds a lot to the quality of the finished work. My blundering method (if it can be called one) is to write too much and then go back and hack out the extra.
I think it would be a good idea to combine your writing tips and and publishing tips in one place. Probably most of your readers are interested in both. Fingers crossed here for you and your dream publicist.
Based on my reading of Up, Back and Away, I would guess that you have a lot of the questions I am talking about already answered in your head before you even start writing a book, or come up with them as you go. It certainly seemed to me that you knew your characters, your history, and where you were going. If not, I’m even more impressed. ;)
Thanks for your comment.
Yes, Mary. I would like to see every blog post you write, regardless of subject matter, in one subscription.
Thanks, Christine. :)
Hi Mary, What an interesting mail – I love the concept of the building books. And yes, I would love to see both your worlds combined. About that publicist – I think we’d all like to know more. Best of luck with your newest novel – and I hope fame and fortune come your way soon. Warm regards, Marion.
Thank you, Marion!
Yes, oftentimes it’s very hard just to sit down and write; some people think it’s so incredibly easy, which is why writers have to fight for respect. At the very first writers’ conference I attended in Dallas some 30+ years ago, a book editor stated that any paragraph, scene, character, etc. that doesn’t advance the story needs to be deleted. It’s true you can drop words into a fomenting story and then return to adjust it or delete it altogether. I discovered a while back that creating characters actually means getting to know them, as if they’re real people. It takes time to get to know people; the same rule pretty much applies to writing.
As for your blogs, Mary, I think it’d be a great idea to combine them. As a professional, published writer, you provide some unique and valuable insight. Please keep us updated!
What an intelligent, insightful and useful response re: advancing plot, character development and editing. I agree with everything you said there so succinctly. And thanks for the vote of confidence as well.
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“I have learned that when I find it impossible to move forward on a project, it is because there is something important about the story that I do not know.”
I usually find it in the emotions the pov character is or isn’t registering. Once I know how she feels about what’s going on, the missing pieces – feeling that change too quickly or are not motivate, feelings that come out of left field and need a quick flashback, inappropriate or incongruous feelings that need explaining – seem to be easier to dig out.
I’ve blogged about my odd process – it’s mixed in with everything else. I figure people can always decide whether they want to continue reading or not, so it is okay to have them on the same blog.
My intention is to tidy it up more – when I have time. Right now, you just type whatever you’re interested into the search box, or click the tags or categories, and you’ll find a series of posts on the topic. Everything takes time, which is why maintaining two blogs is an unnecessary amount of work.
I agree with you — on all points. I will gradually be “telescoping” my many blogs into one or two. Details to follow. Thanks, Alecia.
Merge them please Mary. The words on being blocked are extremely useful.
I need moderation – I’m destructively non-moderate.
Consider yourself moderated…. Sorry for the delay! I approve them all before they’re posted in order to eliminate the spam.