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Stuck

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Flickr Creative Commons: Ken Mattison

WU is not a blog on which I expect to find upsetting posts.  However, I was upset upon reading Julia Munroe Martin’s recent post Confessions from a Weary Writer.  Julia’s raw account of discouragement got to me.  It has stayed with me.  No writer should feel that pain.  I understand it, yet I wanted to hug.  To help.  Is there help?  I hope so.

Julia reports having lost the joy in writing.  She feels a fraud and fears never being traditionally published.  She’s been up to bat a few times and struck out.  She hasn’t quit, though.  (Hooray!)  To nurture herself she practices kindness to herself, mindfulness and acceptance of her fears.  Just thinking is okay.  She draws positive friends close and pushes away social media.  All smart and effective ways to tend to oneself when writing is hard.

Except.  It isn’t the writing that has led to discouragement, but the results.  (So far.)  Slamming into the thick outer wall of the industry fortress is enough to clobber anybody’s spirits, and that in turn can sap the joy juice out of the creative process.  I get it.  I do.  Yet the writing itself did not start out that way.  For most, in the beginning writing fiction is fun.  It’s a process overflowing with potential, a visit to a land of enchantment, a shoulder tap with a magic sword conferring storytelling power.  The story itself is real, happening somewhere apart from the kitchen table, its people fully formed and alive, all one must do is dream their dream and capture it in words.

Stories don’t get discouraged, only writers do.

Which makes me think that another avenue of help for discouragement may be not on the yoga mat but in realizing that even when you are down, a story and its world are always up and running.  A story doesn’t care how you feel.  It doesn’t have time for that.  It’s too busy.  Stuck?  Your characters are not stuck.  Your story world is not static.  Why are you not having fun?  Your story world is an amusement park.  Roller coasters.  Haunted houses.  Tunnels of love.  People there are having a great time, screaming in terror or making out in the dark.

Your story world is also a place of beauty.  It’s a world in which words gush like mountain streams during spring thaw.  There are slow-motion sunrises and blazing sunsets.  People are kind—or cruel.  Rusting red trucks on cinder blocks in backyards dream of old adventures.  A secret is holding its breath beneath the surface of the lake.  Someone is going to change.  Something malign is going to die.

In a way, regaining the joy in writing is nothing more complicated than getting out of your own life and taking a vacation in the world of your story.  That’s not so hard.  It only takes ten deep breaths.  It’s as simple as a walk down to the harbor.  It may not seem that there is time for that.  If you feel so, let me ask you this: Is there anything more important to do with the next two minutes than to nurture your soul and dream your story’s dream? 

If you can take one minute to pray or play solitaire, you can take one minute to dwell in the place of wonder that is the story dwelling inside you.  The trick is in seeing it for the marvelous place it is.  Letting it be not a burden, but just what it is.  Real.  Painful.  Beautiful.  Full of aching hearts, true friends, enduring love, undeserved redemption and gifts beyond imagining.  It’s all there.  It only takes a few clicks to buy a ticket.

What may help is stepping aside from your manuscript.  Broken drafts feel like broken legs.  You can learn from their mistakes but you can’t walk very far on them.  Instead, it may be more helpful to not look at the words on the screen but rather to take a walk in that world: take a break from telling the story and instead spend some time living in the dream.

If you’re feeling stuck, here are some things to try…

In this place, the best day of the year is–? What happens on that day?  This year, what your protagonist is hoping to get is–?

In this place, the good thing that people do for each other is–? Your protagonist does this for someone else when–?  The help your protagonist doesn’t want and rejects is–?

In your story world, right now someone is having a fight—who? Someone is driving too fast—why?  Someone has reached the end of their rope and is about to—what?  A nasty surprise is in store for someone—when?  A fire is going to start—where?

The place your protagonist feels most happy is–? The place your protagonist doesn’t go is–?  The place most magical is–?  The most terrifying experience would be–?

Two people who should fall in love are–? Two enemies who have everything in common are–?  Two allies who are secret rivals are–?  Two kids rushing into sex are–?  Two adults waiting too long are–?  The two characters most wise or foolish are–? 

Someone needs to hear the truth—who? Someone needs to tell the truth—who?  Who rejects the truth?  Who isn’t heard?  What consequences result?

Your protagonist is doing things for good reasons. What’s the reason of which he is unaware?  What need can’t be met?  What yearning is reserved for gods, not humans?  What quest will carry on even after this story is finished?

The love your protagonist never got over is–? The cruelest thing a parent ever said was–?  The day your protagonist would live over and over again is–?  The day your protagonist would permanently erase is–?  Your protagonist is still glowing from–?  Your protagonist was most hurt by–? 

For your protagonist there’s too much to think about, too much to decide, too many questions that don’t have answers, especially–?

In the second chapter, what is your protagonist supposed to do? Instead, ask your protagonist what she thinks she should do.

For one day you can walk into your story world. The first place you would go is–?  The first person you would talk to is–?  The person you would thank is–?  The person you would warn is–?  The food you’d eat is–?  You’d write a poem about–?  The spot where you’d place a flower or lay a wreath is where–?  The place you’d linger as the sun sets is–?  When that day is over, what you’d miss the most is–?

The biggest question in your own mind is–? The answer you most need is–?  The thing you will never get is–?  If you were to give that to your protagonist, what would happen is–?

Did any of those prompts provoke you to write something down?  If so, that proves something: your story and its world exist apart from you.  Whatever state you’re in, that story world is nevertheless there.  It’s carrying on even when you aren’t.  So, what are you waiting for?  Go visit.  If you’re stuck, it’s a better place to be than where you are.

Is the world of your story real?  What do you see when you go there?  What do people there say to you?  What would you change?  What can’t you change?  What makes you wish you could live there?  What makes you glad that you don’t?

Wish you could buy this author a cup of joe?

Now, thanks to tinyCoffee and PayPal, you can!

About Donald Maass

Donald Maass is president of the Donald Maass Literary Agency. He has written several highly acclaimed craft books for novelists including The Breakout Novelist, The Fire in Fiction, Writing the Breakout Novel and The Career Novelist.

Comments

  1. The beauty of your language alone would cheer the discouraged. Today, I will think of “words gushing from moutain streams during a spring thaw.”

    Thank you. (I wasn’t even disheartened, but still I feel uplifted and excited about the life of the stories in my head.)

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    • The worlds in our heads are beautiful places. Better than the traffic jams and garbage duty we deal with most of the time. My word, why wouldn’t we spend as much time there as possible?

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  2. I can almost always relate to Writer Unboxed posts, but perhaps needless to say this one really hit home. Thank you, Don, for an eloquent and compassionate response to my plight. You were right about this: “For most, in the beginning writing fiction is fun.” It’s what I long to get back to. So, today and for a while I will take your advice and dwell in my story, and while I’m there I’ll consider your excellent questions.

    Thank you. Through tears, thank you. You said you wanted to hug… but you did much better. You gave me kindness, hope, and a solid place to start. (And I feel hugged.)

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    • That cheers me up enormously. You’re most welcome. And do have fun!

      Yesterday was my son’s 11th birthday, and at the end of the day he asked for one of his favorite things: a pillow fight with his mom. My wife said, “Aren’t you going to join in?” After traveling halfway across the country and working all weekend, I didn’t feel like it. But I thought, he’s only going to turn eleven once. So I leapt into the room with a roar and a pillow in hand. They all shrieked and ka-pow! The pillow fight was on. I lost but I won.

      Never discount the power of a serotonin rush. A walk in our story worlds can do that too.

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      • Don, I love that you gave in to the lure of a birthday pillow fight! I made a similar choice this past summer though I almost didn’t because of what I “should have” done. First, a wee bit of history: two years ago, with six novels to my name, I had just finished penning the first book of a new fantasy trilogy and was shopping it around (Oi, the query process! Even with six novels to my name, it’s a soul-crushing affair). I’d had some initial interest, but nothing concrete and I was beginning to feel discouraged. I’d just started working on book two (seriously, I think I’d written eight pages of it), when suddenly Real Life decided to rear its ugly head. Aging parents, a child in crisis, health issues, downsizing and moving said parents, and the death of a beloved pet. Oh yeah, the universe really let loose! During the next two years, I tried to spend time in my story world, after all, the real world basically sucked. Sometimes I was successful, but not for long and not consistently. Any dribble of creativity seemed to go up in a poof of rainbow-coloured smoke. More often than not, I didn’t have the brain space to write because I simply couldn’t keep an entire novel in my head.

        By the time things finally calmed down this past June, I was feeling like Julia Munroe Martin: a failure and a fraud—or, at the very least, a has-been. Now, I tell you all this so you can understand how deeply, how desperately I wanted to get back to my writing. When school ended, I read my family the riot act. This summer, I was to be left alone. This summer, my daughter was to occupy herself in a useful and quiet fashion. This summer, we would eat sandwiches and cereal for dinner because I was not going to cook. And whenever I was in my den, I was not to be disturbed unless someone was bleeding or on fire. I was going to write.

        Well, two weeks into the summer, I realized something: my daughter, who is almost fifteen, wanted to spend time with me. You said your son is only eleven, so I don’t know if you’ve begun to experience the Teenage Attitude yet, but for a teenager to actually WANT to spend time with their parents is both a rare and astonishing thing (I’d say that it is almost as rare as the Golden Publishing Contract, but, in fact, I believe it is even more uncommon than that). At any rate, I decided to take a week off to spend with her; at her age, how many more summers might I have this opportunity? One week turned into two, which turned into the whole summer. I spent the entire months of July and August just hanging out with my daughter. We went for long walks together and cooked together. We had deep and meaningful conversations about life and relationships and the state of the world. We grew herbs and tomatoes and did each other’s nails and dyed our hair weird colours. I would not have traded that time for anything—even the Golden Publishing Contract.

        School has started again and I am now ready to get back to writing. I know that my imaginary world has gone on without me, that my characters have grown and changed. I can feel the weight of their voices pressing on me, urging me to come and play, to let them tell me their stories of what happened while I was away. It’s true what you said about a story world always being up and running. But just as you’re glad you took the time to have a pillow fight with your son, I’m glad I spent the summer with my daughter. I know I need to get back in the proverbial querying saddle again, to hurl myself with a berserker cry at the impenetrable walls of the industry fortress, but first I think I’ll play in my story world for a while and see how the mountain streams have fared in the spring thaw. Thank you for your words. As always they are timely and inspiring. I wish you strong seams on your pillows!

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  3. Great post Don. You pinpoint exactly the trouble: “It isn’t the writing that has led to discouragement, but the results.” I have to try not to be too results-oriented but concentrate on the journey. And yes, falling into the story-world is one of the best ways to recapture the joy. I know a few people who use it as an escape from the harsher realities of life. In any case, what a blessed life we lead, doing what we love. Thank you for all your words of encouragement. A beautiful and blessed day to you.

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  4. I’m reading enthralled by the journey of this post, ready to roll, wondering as I read who wrote this wonderful missive…Donald Maass…should have known…he is amazing…..

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    • You know what amazes me? I’ll share a secret. My WU posts are slotted for the first Wednesday of every month. I write them on the Monday morning just prior. Cold. I never have any idea of what I will write, I just trust that something will come. And here’s the amazing part…

      …something does. Every time. I have learned to trust that a message and words with which to express it are always there, just waiting for me to wake up and start dreaming.

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  5. When I was a kid my parents tried to discourage me from daydreaming. I’m glad I didn’t listen. Your post is an homage to the art of daydreaming! When I have been stuck, its this very thing that has un-stuck me. Giving over control of the story to the characters is not only a relief, but often a way through the weeds. I also enjoyed your gorgeous prose this morning. Inspiring on all fronts. Thank you, Don.

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    • Augh! Don’t daydream? Oh my word, how I wish my anxious, adopted trauma kids would do more of that. They’re kids, and never again will they have such leisure. Anyway, glad you’re on board the dream train as an adult. It’s a great ride to a magical land.

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      • Ah, but daydreaming is not limited by age or station in life. Since I’ve retired I day dream as much or more than I did as a teen-ager. I suspect daydreaming is a trait all writers have, all of their lives.

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  7. When I’m stuck and feeling less than joy about a story, I stop adding words to my WIP. Instead, I set up daily, short (just 15-20″) journalling sessions where I write about the characters and their story world.

    I free associate what they want, what they might be thinking, where they would want to be in the world if I wasn’t trying to pull the strings. It doesn’t always solve the problem of my stuck-ness, but I FEEL better about the story. I get back in touch with the spark that inspired me to start it.

    I hope you find that too, Julia. Never give up. Your stories are too precious for us to lose out on. 💕

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  8. Hi Don. I am saving your prompts and want you to know that YES, when I can get to my computer and live in my novel, I am one happy person. Do I sometimes get frustrated and worry that only I will live there? Yes. But the process gives me joy. And often just reading a book review or someone else’s work makes my brain light up–an idea–wow, it might apply. How can I use it, change it? How can I make my story world even better?

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    • If you want the rush of reading a zillion great story ideas, read the reviews in Publishers Weekly. Thirty times a week you’ll feel inspired and challenged. There are a lot of writers out there having a blast. I always feel, why worry? Why not join the party?

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  9. Don,

    This post presents a wonderful flip of mind. And it is spot on in terms of getting to the work and finding the joy of it. Yes.

    But while every author–published or not–seems to struggle with her novel during the writing at some point, getting back to the work isn’t going to, by itself, break down the walls of the industry fortress.

    Of course, working, keeping at it, is necessary for every artist’s development and success…but it’s not sufficient. And when unpublished authors come out of the joy of writing–to cook dinner, and have relationships, and confess their fears–and find that the dream of their own lives isn’t joyful, they need another orbit or degree of inspiration (or letting go, maybe) to carry on and feel whole. THIS is a painful realm that ‘bucking up and writing more’ does not solve exactly. And there may be no salve for it.

    Because there is commercial reality (tough and, to some, seemingly quixotic) and the reality of the joyful story’s form or message not being effective at reaching readers. Today’s readers!

    So yes, we must enjoy the fictional world, but I think we also need to absorb a greater joy in life to carry on as writers who may never be heard. I work at this as well. Thanks.

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    • Tom, there is a commercial reality. No question. And it will not always, or quickly, reward everyone. But writing and the industry are two different things.

      Put industry first and joy is likely to take a hit. (And believe me, getting traditionally published is not a permanent cure.) However, put writing first and there’s never a bad day. Well, not often.

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      • No argument there, Don. I am a rare, most-always happy writer.. My post addressed the other side of the coin, the ‘real’ world, which has dentures–if not teeth in it for unpublished folks.

        I was going to respond to your comment above about dreaming all the time. What’s wrong with that? you asked (rhetorically). Well, there is a diagnosis in the DSM manual for people that never return from the dream world. I’m laughing. Hope you are. Cheers.

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  10. I love my writing. It is probably arrogant or some such to say so, but I love my characters and the worlds I’ve created. It stuns me sometimes how much I love them–though I will kill them or cut them out if need be. So, loving and mean, I guess.

    But knowing that career I dreamed of since childhood is a very dim possibility…I can’t even talk about it.

    In the meantime, I have the book and it has helped me see things in my current manuscript. So, that is a good thing.

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    • What makes you think the possibility of a writing career is dim? At my agency we represent 200+ career novelists. And ours is only one of 400 or so literary agencies.

      But forget all that. Keep loving your characters and worlds. That’s the beginning of what makes all the rest possible.

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      • I certainly don’t know what tomorrow holds. I’m sending out stories and writing every day. What I really mean, I suppose, is that it may happen but it may not. There are many expressions out there about wanting something badly enough and how if you believe in yourself, it will happen and never give up! I say these things too sometimes. But there’s that reality that things just don’t work out they way you want. And so, I’m asking myself how I will handle that, if it happens. I will be able to say I didn’t give up, but I can’t depend on publication for that feelings of success, much less happiness.

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  12. Hey Don – So much truth here, it actually feels like a writerly hug to the whole community. (Or at least writerly back patting, for us awkward dudes.) And that’s much appreciated.

    Part of the truth of it, for me, came in going through your prompts, and finding I had answers for each – most popping nearly instantly into my mind.

    On a side-note, when you ask about how I’d feel walking into my story world, and whom I’d talk to, the first thought that popped into my head was, “Gods afire, I’d be terrified! And particularly intimidated by the characters I’d most like to talk to.” But I’m gong to take that as another good and inspiring sign, if you know what I mean. ⚔

    Thanks for the writerly hug, or back-patting… Or maybe an awkward and brisk dude hug, with back-pats for finality. Hope all is well with you.

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    • How did you get that emoticon ⚔ into your post? Just paste it in?

      Sorry, distracted there for a minute. I love that you would be terrified to talk with the characters you most want to talk to! Awesome! What would they say to you? They’re a pretty fearsome bunch.

      (Now that our summer travels are over and we’re settled in, need to catch up with you!)

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  13. I hadn’t written a new novel for 6 years, but the story world of one book kept calling to me: “There’s more to tell, more to this story. You’re not done yet.” Finally, a few months ago, I jumped back into that pool.

    My strokes were stiff and rusty at first, and getting going was quicksandish–I seemed to be stuck at the end of chapter 3. But more and more bits of “what happens next” made it into my notes and then into the manuscript. The story and the characters took the wheel and hit the gas pedal and the rush of storytelling was fully back.

    I don’t know if this one will sell–its predecessor received way too many “I love this but just don’t know where to sell it” responses to queries but, you know what? I don’t care. I emerged from my time in that story world happy because I ENJOYED the story and, even more, the characters who lived it for me. Everything else is gravy.

    Thanks, Don, for giving writers a hand up when it’s needed, and reminding us of the power of story and the core of what we do.

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  14. I know for me it’s concentrating so much on the mechanics of writing that I forget to enjoy the process. I was a happier writer when I didn’t have a clue. This is a wonderful reminder to dive in and let the story flow wherever it leads.

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    • Good point. Story mechanics can oppress us just as much as anything. However, I imagine you’re already discovered the truth: Mechanics will only take you so far. Sooner or later they will let you down, because every novel is its own story, with unique structure, and a writing process that is never exactly the same as before.

      You’ve got to trust. Let it flow, just as you say.

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    • Linda, so true. I’ve gotten so involved in the plot twists, the story arc, the inciting moment that I no longer enjoy the writing. Time to get back to basics.

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  15. I recently completed a manuscript I had been working on for a very long time. It went through many rewrites and a vast number of drafts, and still, I wonder is it good enough? Am I too old for this? Should I be doing something else more productive – like washing windows or walking the dog? Yes, I’ve had three requests for full manuscripts, but I’m not holding my breath. Why do I put myself through this? Those windows won’t wash themselves.

    And then a couple of weeks ago I sat down at my computer and started writing with no idea of what I was writing about or even who, and yet a story emerged. Every time I got stuck, I channeled Donald Maass – what would he tell me to do here? What’s the worse I could do to this poor guy? I would hear Don’s voice from UnCon or remember something from one of his books, and off we’d go. At the end of a month, I had a 60,000-word story, unlike anything I have ever written. And best of all, I recaptured the joy of writing, of creating, and, no, damn it, I’m not too old. And screw the windows.

    Thank you, Don.

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  16. Great motivating article! Thank you. I was especially struck by the paragraph starting with “Your story world is also a place of beauty.” I lingered there for a while, savouring your words and the images you painted with them.

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  17. Gads, this so resonated with me. It is the elation, intrigue, valor, befuddlement, and puzzle solving–the possibilities–of those characters and worlds that is true sustenance for my living. The creative juice overflows when used and the comes a call from the wild or the dissonance of human brokenness or a magically soothing lullaby. I want to fill up from the well so avail myself of whatever finds its way to me, thirsty, then let it move of its own accord.

    I cannot imagine not writing after decades of the work and pleasures of it. Yet I have been grief swamped the last several months from family deaths; there has been resistance to moving forward technically and pursuing greater goals. So I write what comes, easy or hard, deeper or more superficial. It seems the best I can do–truly.

    Blogging also helps me overcome my petulant or melancholy resistance, helps shape up my fiction and narrative nonfiction and poetry making. The other work will come out of hiding again if i let it, give it what it needs.

    For now, putting each word down and the looking at it, listening to it: is it authentic, does it live true? I feel tears even now and know I will give myself to it. Published or not, I primarily live to be a small conduit of creative energy and that is that. The story just reigns for us humans.

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    • I think it is especially important to write at times of grief. Our feelings are never more raw and true, though perhaps we should resist the impulse to eulogize and focus instead on ourselves?

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  18. I’m a happy writer, just writing my way through my stories. of course i’d like to be a household name, authorly speaking, but i love love love what i’m doing. i dive into my stories (methinks tis the actress in me) and it’s like hanging out with real peeps.
    in my second novel, my MC wasn’t speaking to anyone – including me! i had to have a little sit-down with her. “Clara Bess, honey,” i told her. “I understand you’re shock, but if you don’t talk to me i can’t tell your story.” all of a sudden, she opened up, and well, the story ran like a river! ya gotta let ’em know who’s boss!! #yeahright

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  19. Wonderful post, Don, beautifully written and full of wisdom. The protagonist of my work in progress, thrown into a position of power for which she is woefully unprepared, survives and thrives via her love of storytelling. In her imagination, her life becomes a tale in a book, complete with terror and wonder, dragons to be faced and lessons to be learned. At notable points, she invents captions for the imaginary illustrations. The story becomes real life, or real life becomes the story.

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  20. This post is a wonderful gift for every writer, especially for those of us who are still unpublished, still unsure, still afraid to call ourselves “writers” in public.
    And yes: the world of my story is real, so real I sometimes go to my main protagonist for advice when wrestling with real life questions. I would like to really go there, to visit, but preferably after the climax/resolution. It is not a good place for dreamers and artists before.
    Thanks for the encouragement (and all the other good advice from previous posts and books)!

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  21. I’ve had a recent discovery for keeping joy in my writing: I’ve gone back to pen and paper. I know, retro. Luddite. But when I need to sink into the story world, there’s something about disconnecting from the plugged-in world that makes the story world flood into my mind and gush out my hand.

    I’ve had the strange discovery that I actually write differently with a blue pen on a yellow legal pad. OK, yeah, this is fantasy, but I’m allowing myself to live in it. It’s been such a godsend to find this. When I feel stuck, I look to my notepad and I get a burst of joy–just knowing I’ll find something good when I snuggle into my armchair with real paper.

    Stinging rejections? My pen and paper don’t care. They still let me back into the story world.

    Don, you’re likewise a godsend to all us writers trying to hold onto warm joy amidst chilly receptions. Thank you for being with us in the journey.

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  22. REALLLLLYYY??? How could this have come at so perfect a time? It’s because the Universe knows. Don knows. Writers know. We know, but we don’t remember.

    Thanks ever so much for your encouraging words. I am so very, horribly tired of equating publishing with success. The goal is to experience joy. It’s a good goal. A noble goal. Thanks for reminding us. Can’t wait to see you again in April, hopefully with the unstuck version of whatever it is that is next. Because until a few moments ago, I was … stuck.

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  23. I wasn’t stuck (this time) and still your inspiring words filled me with ideas.

    The question “Where would you lay a wreath…?” hit me in the gut and put a fully formed scene in my head, and now I’m fighting back the tears.

    I’m printing this blog post for future reference. Thank you!

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  24. Someone shared this to a writing group I’m in on that dreaded time-sucker, Facebook, and I’m so glad the link she shared detoured me from there to here to read some words I desperately needed today! This is beautiful. Thank you.

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  25. Hi,

    This message might have been written for me. Thank you for writing it.

    I’ve been stuck for over two years. It’s maddening. The last book I wrote was 60K words and took me ten days to write. How amazing that was to experience. You lay your heart out there and write and then . . . nary a whisper of encouragement back. The story wasn’t good enough, but I loved, loved, loved writing it.

    I’ve tried so many things to break free from being stuck. Your post is more than coincidence for me. It’s amazing that you said every story is different and might have a different writing process. This is me. I have to puzzle it together, any way I can and it’s like I’m learning to write all over again with every single book. The method has always been different so far. I plot differently, I write differently. It’s nuts.

    I’m intrigued by how you say that the story world moves on even if you’re stuck in the real world. Would you please expand on this?

    Nora Roberts said the same thing, basically. Writing gave her a respite from the real world, a place to escape and get away from real-world troubles when she first began. I’ve already tried to reach that immersion.

    I’m tempted to try being hypnotised to forget I ever could be stuck. And waiting for joy is something other well-known authors tell us not to do. Writing is a job, they say. Just do it. Maybe I need to make an appointment with joy. In order to create it, I mean. I guess what you’re saying is the same thing. No matter how rotten you feel or how stuck you are, don’t wait around for joy, because the joy in the story is always there.

    I’ve gone to numerous workshops, conferences, and talked to many authors to try to get past this ‘lost’ stage. Nothing has helped. I’ve gone past stuck into lost. When you become results-orientated and the results are disappointing, you are not so certain anymore. You’re wandering in the wilderness, no map, because a new map has to be devised or discovered with each new book, and you know you won’t reach your destination anyway, because you have a mile of past things that didn’t work behind you.

    Writing this out, I didn’t realise my internal world was so defeatist.

    Can you give more tips on how other authors become ‘unstuck’? Maybe more ways to get fixed in our minds that the story world is outside of ourselves? I look for answers within me a lot of the time. I have written out answers to your prompts for a new story.

    Do you do online workshops?

    I have an 11 year old boy, too. I catch him mimicking Diary of a Wimpy Kid books as he draws and writes about his day, adding funny little bits of dialogue in the large black diary his dad gave him. I can’t tell him that it doesn’t always amount to anything. I just let him enjoy writing and drawing, because it helps with learning language. So, I bite my tongue and let him draw and let him write and I am dazzled by his enjoyment, for a moment forgetting that it feels like my soul has been hammered.

    I’ve been to enough conferences to know that a lot of writers battle on like this and some are published from the first novel they write. That’s fantasy land for me and I’m better off focusing on finding a story idea that works.

    I guess this is the meaning of the feeling, ‘lost’. I keep trying. Keep writing out ideas but it’s like they don’t have legs.

    The day this was posted I was seeing a therapist about being stuck creatively at 8 am in the morning.

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  26. I know this post was several days ago, but I still wanted to thank you Donald for reminding me of the joy, the sense of escape that writing once provided me. You describe it so well, that sense of wonder at the world(s) inside my own head. I’ve had a hard time finding it these days, feeling crushed from the headlines of the times, and the cruel realities behind them.

    It almost feels like cheating to turn away from them, and yet we do all need to find the reservoir of strength in our lives. For me, and for many of us, that is our writing. So thank you for reminding us of that, and for giving us tools to find our way back. It means more than you may ever know.

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  27. I got news for Julia – even after nearly thirty books, some of which have done pretty well and some have been duds – I still feel that way, a lot. I quit writing every couple of years. It’s thoughts like yours that keep me going. I enjoy the process of the story, and have learned to share that feeling.

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