Obstacles: The "Ins" of Writing that Can Paralyze You, and One That Can't
Posted by Andie Ryan Blog at 10/1/2010 4:53 PM 
Categories: Technical Detail, Fiction Writing Junkies, Revision Backroads, Writing Life
Tags: invalidation insignificance story writer's block conflict interference actions writing Beethoven workshop speed-writing intimidation plot charcacters inception
Categories: Technical Detail, Fiction Writing Junkies, Revision Backroads, Writing Life
Tags: invalidation insignificance story writer's block conflict interference actions writing Beethoven workshop speed-writing intimidation plot charcacters inception
I've read a lot of articles about writer's block, and the ones that deal with fear basically say to get over it and just get to the doing. Tips from established writers say "just write." I've written it myself and probably will again.
But how do you get over it exactly? How do you stop all the voices in your head (or those actually coming from another part of the house) that give you a hundred reasons a day not to put a single word on paper?
Intimidation: I haven't done it before; I'm not good enough. Think back to your first job, your first couple of college classes, or the first time you took your first-born toddler to the park and sat with other toddler parents. In those early days, your confidence was probably pretty ragged as you learned the ropes of a new position or a new role in life, learned how to be away from home for the first time, or learned how to take notes in a survey course. Anyone who ever started anything felt this way at one time or another. Writers and other artists are probably at or near the top of this very large heap.
When a scientist conducts an experiment that doesn't produce the results he wanted or expected, does he consider it a failure? Probably not. The reason is that it gets him one step closer to the truth -- the result he wants. Same with writing. It's a condition of apprenticeship. Repeated tries followed by small successes followed by bigger ones. When you write frequently, you come to realize that, after a number of days, you can see this progression. Doubting it produces more doubt and procrastination.
Don't have formal writing workshops where you live? Can't afford them? Concerned about "critiques?" Go to your local library and organize a writing group. Your librarians or a local teacher may even be able to help you structure it. This will get you writing. It will also help you establish light deadlines for delivering work for discussion to other people who may not be professional writers, but who do like to read and can offer their impressions on how well they connect to your story -- which is where the rubber meets the road for a writer anyway. Exposing yourself to others who are trying to do what you're doing -- and others who are better at it than you are, especially -- will motivate you to improve.
Interference: I have too many other demands on my time. The fact of it is, if you keep talking yourself out of writing and moving away from that process instead of toward it, then either 1) you don't want to write badly enough, or 2) you're at a point in your life where writing can't be accommodated, either because of other demands you place on yourself or demands placed on you by others. Usually, it's a combination of the two.
One of my favorite lines from The Big Chill is, "Ever gone a week without a rationalization?" You can talk yourself out of anything, and that can go on for a long time, conspiring to prevent you from accomplishing something you say or think you want. How important to you is it that you write? If it comes in second to confronting a significant other about the use of time, or working overtime so you can put food on the table, it's probably going to lose. Don't beat yourself up over it -- try to think of other ways to juggle your demands. Break writing tasks into smaller pieces. If you can't, you can't. Maybe it's not meant to be. But if you believe it is, try to hold on to your dream -- for when someday comes.
Invalidation: It's not a "real" job. Anyone who says this to you hasn't done it and/or probably doesn't know what it takes to create something out of nothing. You may hear this a lot, and you may even hear it from people who are close to you, which can hurt. Whether you believe it or allow it to deflate you is pretty much up to you.
Rest assured that writing is real work and takes real effort just like any other job. But there are two things that differentiate it from other jobs: you may not be held accountable for measurable productivity, and you may not be able to demonstrate measurable productivity every working day. If you're writing on your own without classes or workshops or editorial deadlines, you're the only one around to hold yourself accountable. There's nobody else. So if you fold socks and watch movies all day instead of churning out a few paragraphs or pages, who's responsible for the lack of productivity?
Thinking of writing as a real job, for me, doesn't wreck the creative process. Enveloping the creative process in tactics related to time management or minimum deliverables, for me, doesn't interfere with what my characters say or do on the page. These things help me to steer toward completion. But that's me. I've been down the road once and know where the road leads. You have to find your own tactics that are not only going to make you produce results -- any result, no matter how small -- but make you confident that your efforts will produce good results.
Insignificance: I don't have anything to say that's new. Few of us do. There is a finite number of unique masterplots, depending on the source -- somewhere between seven and 250 -- but no matter what the number, eventually they start to overlap. Man versus man, man versus nature, girl meets Martian. You're safer to think in terms of structure, and how compelling you can make your characters so your readers can engage with, and like reading, your story -- no matter what the plot is.
You may have the same plot as hundreds of other stories or novels. What makes it yours is how you tell it -- the way you see the world, your perspective, the way you set the words down, your style, your voice, how your characters interact, or don't. These are all unique to you, and while they may echo the work of other writers, they are your own. That uniqueness is what you bring to the table, and that alone should compel you.
* * *
As with any profession, any struggle really, it's important to know that you're not alone in the fight. Everyone experiences doubt and self-loathing and feelings of inadequacy relative to their work because that's the nature of learning. It is especially the nature of apprenticeship. It's okay to start slowly. What's important is starting with something.
If you ever played a musical instrument, you know about scales. If you played piano, you know about Hanon, the big yellow-gold book from the Schirmer Library that is the dripping dread of every piano student. It is a collection of exercises that run your hands up and down the keyboard in several complex variations of the basic do-re-mi scale. They're not songs. They're exercises. Every lesson, every practice session, opened with "The Hanon." We hate them. But over time, fingers become nimble and very quick. By the time you sit down to play Beethoven, the knowledge your fingers and brain have gained by doing the exercises makes the Beethoven technically easier to play. Less intimidating.
Fear is a funny nut. Everyone is guilted by it or scared by it in different ways. Everyone is also motivated in different ways, and to different degrees, to conquer it.
The "in" word that breaks the paralysis is Inception.
Don't expect to go from zero to sixty the first day with your writing, or in every writing session. Don't overlook the small steps that can advance your capabilities.
You may begin by reviewing what you want to happen in your story. Jot notes down. If time is short on some days, hone your technical skills. Learn a few new words, do some speed-writing exercises that are directly related to your plot or characters, or add to a character study by answering questions about who your characters are. Think about your story's conflict. Strategize about how one thing affects other things, how a change could influence other actions and characters. When you're able to sit down for a session with your pen, you will feel more prepared, less "stuck," because some of this groundwork will have already been done.
Writing is a process you have to learn for yourself, and it's different for everyone. With everything you practice, and there are many things to practice, you make small gains, whether you realize it immediately or not -- like piano scales. Your confidence will build steadily, and give you assurance that your efforts are not wasted.
There will be times when you indulge the voices. We all allow this at certain times. But at the end of the day, they are just voices. They're not Beethoven. They can't move objects, surf channels, or fold socks. Eventually you realize that it is only with the act of sitting down to write that your writing, on more days than not, actually gets done.
But how do you get over it exactly? How do you stop all the voices in your head (or those actually coming from another part of the house) that give you a hundred reasons a day not to put a single word on paper?
Intimidation: I haven't done it before; I'm not good enough. Think back to your first job, your first couple of college classes, or the first time you took your first-born toddler to the park and sat with other toddler parents. In those early days, your confidence was probably pretty ragged as you learned the ropes of a new position or a new role in life, learned how to be away from home for the first time, or learned how to take notes in a survey course. Anyone who ever started anything felt this way at one time or another. Writers and other artists are probably at or near the top of this very large heap.
When a scientist conducts an experiment that doesn't produce the results he wanted or expected, does he consider it a failure? Probably not. The reason is that it gets him one step closer to the truth -- the result he wants. Same with writing. It's a condition of apprenticeship. Repeated tries followed by small successes followed by bigger ones. When you write frequently, you come to realize that, after a number of days, you can see this progression. Doubting it produces more doubt and procrastination.
Don't have formal writing workshops where you live? Can't afford them? Concerned about "critiques?" Go to your local library and organize a writing group. Your librarians or a local teacher may even be able to help you structure it. This will get you writing. It will also help you establish light deadlines for delivering work for discussion to other people who may not be professional writers, but who do like to read and can offer their impressions on how well they connect to your story -- which is where the rubber meets the road for a writer anyway. Exposing yourself to others who are trying to do what you're doing -- and others who are better at it than you are, especially -- will motivate you to improve.
Interference: I have too many other demands on my time. The fact of it is, if you keep talking yourself out of writing and moving away from that process instead of toward it, then either 1) you don't want to write badly enough, or 2) you're at a point in your life where writing can't be accommodated, either because of other demands you place on yourself or demands placed on you by others. Usually, it's a combination of the two.
One of my favorite lines from The Big Chill is, "Ever gone a week without a rationalization?" You can talk yourself out of anything, and that can go on for a long time, conspiring to prevent you from accomplishing something you say or think you want. How important to you is it that you write? If it comes in second to confronting a significant other about the use of time, or working overtime so you can put food on the table, it's probably going to lose. Don't beat yourself up over it -- try to think of other ways to juggle your demands. Break writing tasks into smaller pieces. If you can't, you can't. Maybe it's not meant to be. But if you believe it is, try to hold on to your dream -- for when someday comes.
Invalidation: It's not a "real" job. Anyone who says this to you hasn't done it and/or probably doesn't know what it takes to create something out of nothing. You may hear this a lot, and you may even hear it from people who are close to you, which can hurt. Whether you believe it or allow it to deflate you is pretty much up to you.
Rest assured that writing is real work and takes real effort just like any other job. But there are two things that differentiate it from other jobs: you may not be held accountable for measurable productivity, and you may not be able to demonstrate measurable productivity every working day. If you're writing on your own without classes or workshops or editorial deadlines, you're the only one around to hold yourself accountable. There's nobody else. So if you fold socks and watch movies all day instead of churning out a few paragraphs or pages, who's responsible for the lack of productivity?
Thinking of writing as a real job, for me, doesn't wreck the creative process. Enveloping the creative process in tactics related to time management or minimum deliverables, for me, doesn't interfere with what my characters say or do on the page. These things help me to steer toward completion. But that's me. I've been down the road once and know where the road leads. You have to find your own tactics that are not only going to make you produce results -- any result, no matter how small -- but make you confident that your efforts will produce good results.
Insignificance: I don't have anything to say that's new. Few of us do. There is a finite number of unique masterplots, depending on the source -- somewhere between seven and 250 -- but no matter what the number, eventually they start to overlap. Man versus man, man versus nature, girl meets Martian. You're safer to think in terms of structure, and how compelling you can make your characters so your readers can engage with, and like reading, your story -- no matter what the plot is.
You may have the same plot as hundreds of other stories or novels. What makes it yours is how you tell it -- the way you see the world, your perspective, the way you set the words down, your style, your voice, how your characters interact, or don't. These are all unique to you, and while they may echo the work of other writers, they are your own. That uniqueness is what you bring to the table, and that alone should compel you.
* * *
As with any profession, any struggle really, it's important to know that you're not alone in the fight. Everyone experiences doubt and self-loathing and feelings of inadequacy relative to their work because that's the nature of learning. It is especially the nature of apprenticeship. It's okay to start slowly. What's important is starting with something.
If you ever played a musical instrument, you know about scales. If you played piano, you know about Hanon, the big yellow-gold book from the Schirmer Library that is the dripping dread of every piano student. It is a collection of exercises that run your hands up and down the keyboard in several complex variations of the basic do-re-mi scale. They're not songs. They're exercises. Every lesson, every practice session, opened with "The Hanon." We hate them. But over time, fingers become nimble and very quick. By the time you sit down to play Beethoven, the knowledge your fingers and brain have gained by doing the exercises makes the Beethoven technically easier to play. Less intimidating.
Fear is a funny nut. Everyone is guilted by it or scared by it in different ways. Everyone is also motivated in different ways, and to different degrees, to conquer it.
The "in" word that breaks the paralysis is Inception.
Don't expect to go from zero to sixty the first day with your writing, or in every writing session. Don't overlook the small steps that can advance your capabilities.
You may begin by reviewing what you want to happen in your story. Jot notes down. If time is short on some days, hone your technical skills. Learn a few new words, do some speed-writing exercises that are directly related to your plot or characters, or add to a character study by answering questions about who your characters are. Think about your story's conflict. Strategize about how one thing affects other things, how a change could influence other actions and characters. When you're able to sit down for a session with your pen, you will feel more prepared, less "stuck," because some of this groundwork will have already been done.
Writing is a process you have to learn for yourself, and it's different for everyone. With everything you practice, and there are many things to practice, you make small gains, whether you realize it immediately or not -- like piano scales. Your confidence will build steadily, and give you assurance that your efforts are not wasted.
There will be times when you indulge the voices. We all allow this at certain times. But at the end of the day, they are just voices. They're not Beethoven. They can't move objects, surf channels, or fold socks. Eventually you realize that it is only with the act of sitting down to write that your writing, on more days than not, actually gets done.
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