How Writer’s Block is Like Life

This isn’t the usual “how Something is like Something Else” post, because there is no listing of various comparisons. There is only one. In fact, writer’s block is not like life, because so many people (even writers!) don’t believe in it. I would guess that those people would agree that life exists. It follows, even, that they must have an easier time than the rest of us (writers) because they’ve never been visited by the Demon of Doubt which the French call le bloc de l’écrivain.*

But there is one way that I have found in which writer’s block is like Life: The only way to get on is to go straight through.

To a writer (or other creator), a block to the creative process is much like a block in the road of life itself. If you write, or paint, or sculpt, or compose, that is your life. You have other interests, other loves such as friends, family, another hobby (if you have time), or maybe you’re really lucky and include your job. But as for who you are, that’s writing, or painting, or whatever. If you’re not doing that, if you can’t do that, you’re not you.

So the question is, what do you do about it? I learned as a child that the best way past an unpleasant chore was just to do it, and get it out of the way. (Note that I said “I learned.” Nowhere do I say I put what I learned into practice.) And so it is with writer’s block. Being a writer, being a member of writers’ groups, I have both dispensed and received all of the standard remedies: Get up and take a walk, try another project, give yourself a short vacation and “feed your head.” All of these are valid and helpful, but in the end, only one seems to me to be the real solution: Set your feet, put your head down, and push.

I recently went through a block that lasted over a month. It was awful. I tried all of the fixes, and some of them made me feel better, but nothing seemed to help me progress. Eventually, something came loose in my mind and my story began to flow again. But just last week, I hit another block–not a major one this time, just a question of how my characters should (literally) move on. It’s the kind of thing that I would have tackled earlier had I outlined this novel more carefully, but it is what it is.

And it’s occurred to me that, like those chores I should have done long ago, the best way around is through. This is a first draft, which no one is going to see anyway. I can let my characters run in any direction, and if it turns out to be a bad choice, I can simply delete and rewrite. Or I can interpolate enough details to make what I’ve already written make sense. It’s my world; I can do what I want. The laws of physics don’t apply.

But even if I hate what I write and dump the whole section (and I’ve dumped up to 20,000 words at a time), I will be writing. The Demon of Doubt will have to sit and suck its thumb while I work. And whether what I come up with is good or not, there’s a better than fair chance that the simple act of creation will free my brain to find the right path, even if I’m not already on it.

So writer’s block is like life. There’s a time for retrenching, taking stock, and resting up, and there’s a time to charge ahead even if you don’t quite know where you’re going, because sometimes movement for its own sake is enough.

Just keep your eyes on the road ahead and not on your phone.

 

*I wanted to use Latin, but I couldn’t find a translator.

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That Was the Week that–Whew!

So it’s been an exciting week in my little corner desk of the universe. I’ve had a story go up on a Hugo-winning podcast (read by a Hugo winner), I sold a reprint, I had four other stories come back with less fanfare, another (for which I have had high, but unrealized, hopes for years) is due to be judged by another market at any minute, and I had a book giveaway on LibraryThing that was oversubscribed (i.e., more people requested it than there were copies available).* Given that I’ve had months go by without any of these events occurring, this is a whirlwind.

And yet, my life is essentially the same as a week ago. I am no more famous than I was (so far as I can tell), I am little richer than I was (nor will I be when I’m paid), and nobody’s called me to make a movie deal of my podcast story. I will admit that at the beginning of the week, with all of these events (most of which were predictable) ahead of me, I had high hopes that my time was now. And really, I’m old enough to know better.

This is not to say that my time is not yet to come, it is simply recognizing that fame, fortune, love, whatever it is you’re looking for, doesn’t simply crash down on you like a lightning bolt that gives you super-speed. This is a very difficult lesson to learn, because we don’t want to wait–we want our fame and fortune now.

When I was in school, I approached every date, every dance, every opportunity to meet girls as if it was my last. Not in a dashing, devil-may-care way, but in desperation. (I was not exactly the captain of the football team, if you see what I’m saying.) It wasn’t until I gained some perspective that I realized that things take time. The girl I was going to fall in love with was right there all along, but our relationship required time to develop into what it became, and still is.

So it’s okay to get all excited and think, “This is it! This is my big chance!” as long as you realize it won’t be your only chance. I have other stories out there, and maybe one of them will hit it big. Or maybe it’s the next story I write. I know a lot of writers who have been dying of despair in January and counting their award nominations in March. After all, J.K. Rowling was flat broke before “Harry Potter” hit.

On the whole, however, I’d prefer to avoid more weeks like this one. They’re exciting, but draining. If Steven Spielberg is going to call, I wish he’d just get it over with. Maybe I should check my messages…

… Okay, nothing. But tomorrow is another day… Hey, that’s catchy. I bet I could work that into a story.

 

*I have two other giveaways running on LibraryThing if you care to look.

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