Writing Is Not A Mystery - That Sinking Feeling

The thing about the Titanic is...

...it always goes down.

We know the end.  We know, but we watch.  Something about the sinking affirms us.

Cut to:

You.  Sitting at your writing spot.  Feeling...

...bad.

Why are you feeling bad?  You're writing.  You're in your spot.  What's going on?  Is it not going well?  It's going, at least.

But still somewhere deep inside you have that sinking feeling.  You're tanking.  You know it.  No one else sees it, but you know it.

What is it?

It's life.  Life is coming to get you.  Your vulnerability is sneaking up on you.  Your fragility.  Your issue.

Whatever your issue is, it's wrapped itself around you and is now entwining itself into your creative process.  This is good, right?  This is what we want.

Also, but, see, it's making you uncomfortable.  And uncomfortable is bad, no?

No.

Uncomfortable is not bad.  Bad is a judgement.  Uncomfortable is a new place.

Try again.  Bad is what doesn't work for you.  Uncomfortable is probably working for you.  Uncomfortable is probably something you chose to work on, that is in fact working on you.  So cool.

Say, for example, you have issues with your sister.  Okay, every relationship has issues.  But this one, really just digs.  Say, it turns out, funnily enough, that your story, the one you're working so hard on, is about two sisters.  One day you show up to the page - good you! - and you feel uncomfortable.  Something's not working, you don't know what it is, and you're feeling bad.  Like fragile, like weird, like vulnerable, like new.

New is good.  So is everything that came before it in the sentence above.  This is actually a good, if not the best, place to work from.

So why does it feel so bad?

Well, for one thing, you are judging it bad.  Throw that out and about 30% of the feelings straighten themselves out for you.

Could these feelings, maybe, have something to do with the fact that you are in some deep part of yourself working on this sister problem for both your story and yourself?  That's awesome.  And very uncomfortable.  

Learning something isn't bad.  New inner landscapes are not bad.  Arriving at new insights, not bad.

Prickly, maybe.  Testy.  Uncomfortable.  Needing to be broken in.  Not bad.

It's feisty, it's unpredictable, it's open.  It's leading you to a place in yourself and your art that you cannot foresee.  How cool!  How destabilizing.  How manic.

But overall, goodness.

The first thing to learn here is how to breathe.  Take the breath right through the fear and possible panic.  Look at the work you are doing - does it look interesting, does it have depth, is it demanding more of you? If so, this is the right track.

After breathing, you're going to want to have balance.  Give that up.  You're not getting it any time soon.  This could be a transitional state.  It could be a long birthing process.  Give up balance and go elemental - keep breathing.  Working.  Breathing.  Working.  If the balance wants to come, it will arrive for you.  But give yourself the option to keep moving through this phase - don't shut off the process and get re-stuck in another not fully realized you.  Move breath through you, cause that tells you that you are alive.  Write when the panic subsides.  Breathe when it shows up.

This is the bridge guarded by trolls.  You have to pay to get across.  And there could be worse things on the other side.  Keep going.  Cause whatever they are, you can get through them.  And you will have some great stories to tell when you get back out of the forest.

p.s.  You are the trolls.  And the worse things.  And the bridge.

(This blog is part of a series - you can look the others up on the side, or go to the blog search and type "writing is not a mystery" - either should work.)

Writing Is Not A Mystery - And Not Like Your Skinny Jeans

No.  Not the hipster "skinny jeans."  (Sorry, I'm feeling anti-hipster at the moment.  It'll pass.)

Those jeans, those jeans, the ones you can't fit into anymore.

Here's a question I ask writer friends, writer clients, people who tell me they want to write:

"So - how's the writing going?"

The frequent answer:

"I need to/have to/just got to get back into it."

"Back into it."  That's the key.

Like writing is a pair of jeans you outgrew.  Your favorite jeans.  The ones you  spent too much on, but they gave you booty.  The ones that got you booty.  Those jeans.  

You just need to get back into them.

Right.

But, cause, see now, as Jaha knows, those jeans might not be all that anymore.  They might be last year's jeans, or - last decade's jeans.  

         These jeans will not ever kiss these lips or

          hug these cheeks again

     And the beauty finally

     Is that I don’t want them anymore

          They are not big enough to

               hold the woman I am today

What you are really trying to get into is

a past self.

Hm.

What should we do with that?

I just have to get back into it is code for:

I'm not writing.  I'm not setting aside any time for it.

And I feel bad about it.

My rule - and I'm big on de-cluttering - is:  get rid of anything that makes you feel bad.

So - wait - get rid of writing?  

Um, not exactly.  The thing that makes you feel bad is the not writing.  Not the writing.  The absence of writing makes you feel guilty when you speak with another writer or artist or someone who believes in your gift.

So get rid of not writing. 

You can do this several ways.

First and obviously, you can write.  In an easy manageable way.  Little moments a few times a week.  One hour on a Sunday.

When you tell me you need to get back into writing, you are telling me you're neglecting self.  Because if you were taking care of self, you'd be answering that question in a different way.  You'd be telling me what your priorities actually are now and how writing might or might not be part of those.  You'd be telling me the truth.  "Getting back into it" is a deflection.  It sounds a lot like,  "I used to be someone who used to write and if I can just go back and become that person again, I could write."  Right.

Let go of the not writing means let go of trying to be who you were when you last remember writing as an urge.  While you are busy trying to recapture that feeling in order to write, you are not writing.  You are changing and growing in myriad ways that might inform the writing if you sat down to it, but you are telling yourself that it needs to fit you like that old pair of jeans or you can't do it.

Stop making yourself feel bad that you are not writing.  Stop trying to squeeze yourself into a past perception.  Just be here and go with that.

This feeling comes up a lot when dealing with unfinished projects.  Go ahead and hate everything you've written up to now when you were a different person 6 months or two years ago, and figure out what you have and want to say now.

Now is the only you.

The jeans you have on now are your jeans.  The words you write today are the ones that fit you.

Everything else is you making yourself feel bad.  Raising mismatched expectations of self and even...romanticizing writing.

Don't do it.  Back away from that precipice.  Now, please.  Steady.

"I wrote in college."  "I used to journal."  "I used to write poetry."  Wistful sigh.

It's not romantic!  How many writers do you know sitting around drinking absinthe and having sexy rendez-vous in cafes?  That's what I thought.

Romantic has a way of feeling nostalgic and, then, again, leads to something you used to do.  You pine for this thing like an unrequited love that is doomed because....well, because that feels like a good story.  Something unattainable is always a good story.  In fiction.  Go ahead and write that.  This is your life.  Life is about growth.

The writers you know sit with their laptops and their caffeine of choice and they pound it out daily.  You don't need skinny jeans for that.  You need focus.  

Get real.  Get today.  Get you.  

Get Back is a song by The Beatles.  It is not what you need to do in order to write.

Get Here is a song by Brenda Russell.  It is what you need to do in order to write.

Get it?

To recap:

Option 1:  Write.

Option 2:  Give yourself permission to be only and exactly who you are right now in order to write.

Option 3:  Give yourself permission to let go of the before - the how it used to be, or feel - thank it, and let it go. 

Why are 2 and 3 options even if they don't actually include writing?  Because writing or the lack of it isn't really the issue here (unless you're on a delivery deadline!).  The issue is the need to assimilate the changes you've made in your life and feel comfortable with them in order to enter into a safe creative zone.  Acceptance of who you are now, and what your practice may or may not be is going to be key to writing.  Guilting yourself over a project you are choosing not to finish (yes - it's a choice) is not going to get anything happening.  

Unless you are on a deadline for an article, book, thesis - you don't have to write.  You are making the choice to do so.  Holding on to the idea that you are making a choice to write, but then consistently not writing is angst-making.  Who needs more angst?  Let. It. Go.

Here's a writing exercise to start with - go ahead and write out why you think I am completely wrong and you just need to get back into writing to write.

If that leaves you high and dry, how about free-writing on  the tyranny of skinny jeans and hipsters...the Fauxtelligentsia, if you will...

(Sorry so snarky.  Hipsters got me down.)

Okay - a real writing exercise- free write on these questions:  

What self have you left behind that you really miss?

What self have you left behind that you are so happy to do without?

(This blog is part of a series - you can look the others up on the side, or go to the blog search and type "writing is not a Mystery" - either should work.)

Writing Is Not A Mystery - There, Their, They're...

What's wrong with this picture?

If the editing process is like getting dressed before leaving the house, then that last look in the mirror before you walk out the door - that's proofreading and copy editing.

It is part of the job.   To be honest, it has its tedious qualities.  Even blogging on it seems tedious, or obvious, or unnecessary in a goes-without-saying way.  But it doesn't go without saying.  It needs to happen.

I've had the privilege of programming work, auditioning people,  and reading submission and I can tell you - programmers, editors, directors, producers - have limited time and attention just like everyone else.  In this process, you are looking for something specifically unspecific, you are hoping to fill slots or find an overall shape that works for a show, a festival, an anthology.  You are waiting and hoping to be dazzled - you are completely open to being dazzled.  The other thing you are completely open to, is being turned off.  The terrible is the friend of the selector - it is so easily discounted and put on the "no" pile.  Easy decisions are hard to come by, and believe me when I tell you that the first 90 seconds of your short film, the first three minutes of your feature, the first paragraphs of your writing, the first scene in your screenplay, all carry an unbelievable amount of weight when any of them are being reviewed in a bulk process.  Everything between completely excellent and bad is a problem in this process - it requires deeper thought, it requires itself to fit in somewhere, it requires talking with other people in the process to figure out whether it works or not.

All that to say - don't submit sloppy.  Sloppy documents give people a chance to discount you for no reason.  They give readers a moment of distrust that can snowball out of your control.  They allow doubt into the selection and review process.  Maybe the writer isn't that good, maybe what's good in this is an accident, since they don't seem to know grammar or spelling or punctuation - maybe they will be difficult.

Ignoring accepted conventions in grammar, spelling and punctuation do not make you subversive and interesting.  They make you a writer easy to dismiss, reject, or put on the bottom of a pile.  They make you a problem for an editor or publisher.  Most importantly, these types of errors undercut your ability to get through to your audience.  Everyone is overloaded - don't give anyone a reason to stop reading.

It's counter-productive to submit documents that are full of errors.  The way you feel when you leave the house without earrings, or with mismatched socks, or accidentally wearing your t-shirt inside out - that's how you should feel about sending out documents that aren't as close to 100% as possible -- weird and uncomfortable.  Our tendency is to go fast - write fast, post faster - but that only works for things that you intend to last only as long as a twitter feed.

Editing can be fun!

You can outsource this part of the process, but initially you might not want to - you might feel overprotective.  Maybe once it's ready to be published or the equivalent, you can engage someone to be your final eyes on it.  You can certainly take a copy editing or proofreading course, or get yourself a good book.  I like a red pen - marking up a print out is fun - like being the teacher.

I like to take the tedious and obvious nature of copy editing and proofreading as a little gift.  A simple, clear-cut process in a sea of abstract thoughts, feelings, character motivations, pinache and flash.  Cooking a great meal requires assembling ingredients, preparation, tasting, finessing.  Washing dishes is just washing dishes.  Sometimes, it's nice just to wash dishes.  Copy editing and proofreading is like that.  It makes it easy to step a few feet back from your piece, and sometimes, even see something larger you had missed.  Don't neglect this step - it's like wrapping a gift before you give it, or focusing the camera before you take the shot.  It may seem small to you, but it has a large effect on your potential audience.

And that's who you're writing for, right?

(This blog is part of a series - you can look the others up on the side, or go to the blog search and type "writing is not a Mystery" - either should work.)

Writing Is Not A Mystery - It's A Commitment

From bronswirlz13 via lilliputianjourney.blogspot.com

I see so many pieces wasted - good ideas, great tension, fantastic characters - by writers who don't edit what they've got into a shape that makes it soar.  A finished piece is more than what poured out of the top of your head in strings of sentences and fragments - it's a well-defined document that is ready to go out into the world on its own.

You don't consider yourself dressed to go out when you step out of the shower and into a towel.  You dry off, put on clothes, maybe make up, shoes.  That's editing.  Without it, your piece is soaking wet and naked standing on the street corner, wallet and keys on the kitchen table at home.

Don't rob your piece of its distinctive voice.  Don't hold it back from its audience.  Don't strand your words.

Writing is a process.  The longer your piece, usually, the longer the timeline.  Build time into your process for all the steps.  They are what elevates your writing, and your commitment to them is what elevates you as a writer.  As you revise and rewrite, you are developing your eye and ear for good writing - you are on the lookout for what a reader would be gleaning from your work.

The Voynich Manuscript - a magical mystical text

For poetry and spoken word, I read pieces out loud over and over and over,  so I can hear what the audience is going to hear.  Each glitch in the rhythm, each crease in the meaning, I attempt to iron out through editing.  It's a great idea to read things aloud while editing and to read a printed version.

The transition from the writing to editing stage is subtle, but there is a distinction to be made and it's helpful if you can find that little place of change and recognize it.  It's wearing a different hat from the one we've been cultivating - yet it still requires openness and presence.

This time you sit down and just let the words you have written speak to you without making assumptions about what they are going to say.  If you bring assumptions here, you'll bring intentions - you'll be the observer affecting the experiment.  In other words, you could end up influencing your own read of the material - and essentially be reading a different piece than your actual readers will.

This is abstract -- essentially, you've got to judge the thing without judging it.  How does somebody do that?  You assess it without emotion or investment.  That's where the trick is.  You look at it, as much as possible, even at this early stage, as completely separate from you.  It is!  It's not you - it feels like you, but I promise it's not you!  It can't cook dinner, do laundry, or apply for a credit card.  It's not you.

Look at it as the gift you are giving to others, or the gift you have received from somewhere else.  Find out what the gift feels like, what it has to say, what taste it leaves on your tongue, what color it sets before your eyes.  Then and only then, you may ask if it is tasting the way you would like it to taste, showing you the color you want to show.  And even then, don't forget to ask if this one you have tastes better than the one you were hoping for, if the color is different, but perhaps, more appropriate.  Let the writing surprise you!

Editing is being your best possible reader and your most innocent reader simultaneously.  It's finding the shape of the piece within what you've written down and uncovering what's still in your mind underneath what you've already unearthed.  It's opening yourself up to the channel of that particular message.  It takes cultivation.  It takes a willingness to empty out enough to leave some space for a new pattern, rhythm or image to emerge.

A lot of people simply don't get past the first stage of writing.  Why?  Is it difficult?  A little.  Is it time-consuming?  Absolutely.  I don't think that's why.

I think it's because it's scary.  It's scary to admit that you think that little blurt is worth editing, refining, and putting out into the world.  It's scary to put your most abstract self into the hands of strangers.  It can give you a queasy and imbalanced feeling.  Brene Brown aptly calls this a "vulnerability hangover."  You open yourself up, and even if the news is good, you get this raw, exposed feeling you can't shake.  Joni Mitchell described in an interview as all nerve-endings when she made her remarkable album Blue,  Artists must cultivate this rawness, as uncomfortable as it may be.  It's the reason for a lot of behaviour that seems erratic and abnormal.  Make best friends with your art.  Let it be the cure for the hangover.  If you commit to it, it will commit to you.

Are you interested in a series of linguistic one-night stands or do you want to master a language -- your language?  

It's no easy thing to dress up your first born, make it a brown paper lunch and put it on the bus for the first day of school.  And here's the fun part -- they are all your first born.  Each time out, it's new.  This is part of being an artist - it doesn't work if you run yourself on autopilot.

It's your gift to the world.  It's your legacy.  It's your action.  It's your way of adding what's inside your head to the larger conversation.  Listen to it.  It's asking you out on a date.  It's asking you to go steady.  It's asking if you want to spend your life with it.  Put a ring on it.

Stay committed.  Don't let the odds get you down:

(I stole the AWESOME image up top from another blog on writing - whoulda thought?  So please check out her blog, too!)

(This blog is part of a series - you can look the others up on the side, or go to the blog search and type "writing is not a Mystery" - either should work.)

Writing Is Not A Mystery - The Myth of Writers Block (Part 4) - Tips and Solutions!

My monster

As life goes, I've been too busy writing to write!  Funny thing about writing is, it takes time.  Lots of time.  And mental space.  I promised you some tips - so let's get to them!  I was going to break this into two - cause it's kinda long, but I think I'll put them all here and maybe take a week off from the Writing posts next week.

We've talked about the dreaded, yet fictional,  Writers' Block and what might cause it.  All that psychotherapy is great, but what you really wanna know is --- how to stop it.  How to get the waters flowing.  How to step out of your own way to create the novel, screenplay, epic slam poem, one-person show you truly want to create.

(Some of these are suggestions I've made before in previous posts, but for the sake of having helpful hints in one place...)

1.  Start where you are.  It's kinda zen, but also kinda unavoidable.  You are where you are, in the state you are in.  Every day you wake up, you are somewhere between your best and worst self.  Even within that day, your moods, actions, and choices may vacillate between those points.  As many self-help and spiritual gurus suggest that you stop waiting to live until you are your most perfect self, I'd like to suggest the same thing to you about writing.  You don't need to wait until you are your best, most writerly self to write.  Just write.  Writing badly can be a powerful step in the progression to writing well.  Start now.  Be who you are today as you face the page.

2.  Write it all out.  Whether or not you are doing Morning Pages (which I so thoroughly recommend), writing it all out is a suggestion you can always use.  Give yourself an hour or so. Put on music if you want - turn off the phone and the WiFi.  Get  a notebook.  A pen.  Write by hand.  Write out every single thing that is bothering you, smothering you, every idea trying to get your attention while you are trying to write something else, every fear, every insecurity.  Let it all boil over the top and spill it out.  Feel free to burn it when you're finished.  (But save those good ideas for later!)  If you are feeling corked, it may have absolutely nothing to do with the thing you are writing - find out.

3.  Monster up.  You've got a monster in your box.  The project you are committing to, while simultaneously not committing, is the monster.  The box is the file you keep it in.  The box is the brain it is stuck in.  The box is the dark corner.  The monster is hiding there.  You need to court this monster.  You need to stare down this monster.  You need to play possum with this monster.  You need to call this monster a coward.  You need to monster up.  The story is the monster - you are the monster.  Why do you think we have so many monster stories?  Archetypes from Frankenstein to Jekyll and Hyde are there so you can see that you are not alone in your monster!  My suggestion is use the tool as a weapon - write the monster into the light.  If you feel blocked turning the beast into a beauty, then write the beast.  Every last snarling, drooling detail of it.  Draw a picture of the monster.  Visualize the monster.  Then like Arthur wielding Excalibur, slay the monster.

4.  Pin it down.  You know what you want to put off writing today, but tomorrow you want to put off writing something else.  Make a choice.  You dip your toe in, then pull back.  You are going to have to get in the water at some point, or you are going to have to give up.  Here's an exercise that will help you locate your most powerful energy right now (what some might term passion):

1. Write down all of your writing project ideas
2. From that list, choose 10 (If you  have less than 10, well, skip this step!)
3. Put those top 10 (or fewer)  choices in order of most- to least-interested at this moment
4. Look at your top 3
5. Chose 1
6. Write!

5. Ask yourself... Questions are key.   When we sit down, we think it is to have answers.  We think we know.  But even the best idea is just that - an idea.  A spark, a sketch, an approximation of the actual thing.  Questions help you find out what you know about that idea, and maybe, more importantly, what you feel.  Answering the questions will hone your gut instinct, and define the direction you are going to take.  Questions can be practical:

• What is keeping me from writing this screenplay/novel/play/poem/article...?
• What do I most fear about the writing process for this piece?
• What is my deepest hope for this piece?
• What skills do I wish I had in writing this?
• What can I do to make myself the right person to write this?

They can be related to your particular project:

• What is the one image I have that is the center of this piece?
• What is the one scene, chapter, paragraph, sentence I feel must be part of this piece?
• What is the core element of this piece that makes it so important for me to write it?
• If this piece were a city, what city would it be?
• If I could take this story out to a restaurant and sit it down to talk to it, where would I take it?
• What ride at Disneyland most closely resembles this piece?

The questions don't even all need to make sense - in fact - it can be more helpful if they don't!

Answering questions about characters is a great way back into the process.  Make a list of at least 10, but up to 100 questions you might ask about a person.  For example:

• How old is he/she?
• Where was he/she born?
• What is his/her favorite song?
• Did he/she go to college?  What did he/she major in?
• What is his/her credit rating? rent? mortgage payment?
• What is his/her favorite color?
• Has he/she ever been sailing? fishing?  shooting?
• Is he/she afraid to fly?
• What songs on his/her iPod?

You can include all the vital statistics in these questions - how old,  star sign, address, weight, height, eye color - and non-vital ones - favorite animal, kindergarten teacher's name.  Get a list of questions - the longer, the better.  Then, answer them.  For each main character in your piece.  (If you are your main character, do it anyway - the you in your piece is not you, exactly, it is an alter-ego - your Jekyll or Hyde - so let it breathe a little.)

You can answer all questions for all characters, you can answer the first 10 questions for your protagonist, and the next 10 for the antagonist and so on, if you have a really long list.  But these questions and answers are going to help you make the characters into living, breathing people.  They are going to make you pin down things you already know, and give you details that will make your characters specific.

Details and specifics are friends of the writer - those quirks might suggest whole scenes, raise conflict, and solve narrative problems.  This exercise also gets rid of the icky backstory problem.  Once you know your character this well, you are free to leave out a lot of details, instead of feeling compelled to try telling your story through expositional backstory.  It's like lifting a weight - you suddenly have the answers, so you are free to disregard them and only use the ones that serve the narrative.  If you like, you can use the answers to the questions to begin constructing a bio for each character - just don't dance too much around the issue, which is getting back to writing the actual project.

Make up your own questions - about the world you are writing about, about the decision points in the story, about what you want to share with an audience.  Answer them.  (This can be a great exercise to do verbally with a buddy, or in a writing group, too.)

Use questions as a way back to the writing process; let the answers suggest a place to dive in.

6. Visualize.  If the verbal, literal and linguistic are bugging you --- give them a rest!  Get visual.   Get magazines - tons - and cut out pictures that suggest the world, tone, style, mood of your piece.  Make a collage of the images.  Put it up where you can daydream into it while you are writing.  Join Pinterest - set up a board for the project with anything you find online that sparks - anything you might not want to forget from a quote to an image, to the actor you want to play the lead role.  Near where you write, keep the inspiration, the seed, of this project close - an image of a loved one who is the basis for a character, a picture of a landscape where the story takes place, the quote that sparked the whole thing.  Watch movies and shows that have the feel of your piece.  Translate your piece into a great work of art - who does it feel like - Picasso, Dali, Rothko, Basquiat, O'Keeffe?  Find images from masters that represent the feel you are hoping to create.

O'Keeffe

7.  Collect. I'm an Evernote addict.  Research is important for most things we write.  So do it.  Maybe you're stuck because you simply don't know enough about what you're writing about.  Start collecting information, directly and indirectly related to your subject.  Go deeper - go further.

Is your main character a bartender?  Have you ever mixed a drink?  Take a bartending class.  Are you writing a science fiction story?  Keep up to date with developments in science by reading journals, and the Science Times on Tuesdays in the New York Times.

Research yields pithy little details that will make your writing more real.  It might create anecdotes that you can use in your story.  Tools like Pinterest and Evernote can help you collect the pieces you find online, but don't forget about collecting real life material - examples, stories, experience.  Are there people around who have experience directly connected to your story?  Take them out for coffee and let them talk to you about it.  Life is out there and life is the source of whatever you're writing.  So don't hide from it - find out what you need to know to make your writing real.  Hunt it down and gather it up, then let it percolate through you into images, events, and scenes.

8.  Utilize powerful procrastination.  None of this namby-pamby, wash the dishes, do the laundry sh^t.  I'm talking SERIOUS procrastination.  Forbid yourself to write - for a day - for a week.  Take yourself on a day trip - to a museum, a movie, take a hike, a bike ride, go to the ballet, take a dance class, go to a concert.  Go away for a weekend.  Give up.  Give in.  If it's not going to hit, then fill yourself up with something else.  Ignore the writing.  Defy it to show up in your life.  Dare it to come knocking on your door looking for some break-up booty call.

9.  Get creative!  These suggestions are just the beginning.  There are scores of ways you can get yourself back into the game.  Make a playlist for the project.  Put it on and listen to it.  If you're an outline person, do an outline.  If you're not an outline person, start one anyway, putting in everything you already know and leaving space for what you don't.

Customize these suggestions and the ones you find elsewhere to make them work for you.  And not only for you, but you in this moment, working on this project.

Give yourself the task of creating new writing prompts.  Give yourself the task of starting by describing the locations or settings for your project.  Tasks are key - they make the landscape less sprawling - give you inroads to the story and the elusive elements you are cultivating that will eventually give your work a transcendent, universal, or mythical level.  While you're at it - don't worry about the transcendent, mythical level while you're writing - it will only mess up your head.  There's plenty of time to worry about that in edits and revisions.  Focus on the small picture now - it will take you farther.

10.  Get help.  Have you ever taken a writing class?  If not - then maybe it's time!  There are a tremendous number of classes available geographically and virtually in all price ranges (scroll down for resources after clicking the link!).  Build your skills and tools so you don't feel like you're drowning every time you sit down.

Another option - join a Writing Group.  It's a great way to mitigate the loneliness of writing, get social and get feedback.  Maybe you're not the writing group type - if you are - great!  Get into one; start one; find one.  


Find a buddy.  Your buddy doesn't even  have to be a writer or a reader.  Someone you trust, who you'll feel comfortable checking in with about your progress, and someone you can be honest with is much more important than whether they are also in the throes of writing.  You need to feel responsible to them, but not beholden.  It's great if they also need you to check in with them on their goals - then it's reciprocal and accountable.  You are alone, but then again, you're not.  Don't get so deep in that you forget there's a world out there!

Use the internet!  Google "writing prompts" and articles on writing - you'll find some valuable tips and ways to get going!


Get a coach.  I do writing consulting and coaching, but I still think there is a lot of work you can do on your own before hitting up someone like me.

If you're really feeling pent up, tied down,  press play and let Florence help you shake it out.  Dancing recommended.

If none of this makes you want to write, or get back to the writing at hand, there's one thing to think about. Maybe you're not a writer.  I'm not saying that you can't write, or even that you shouldn't write.  I'm saying that maybe it's writing that you aren't responding to.  Maybe you have a story idea, but what you really want is to be able to play the villain in that story once it's done.  Maybe you want to write the score to it.  Maybe you want to paint the scene you see in your head.  

Writing is an art people gravitate to for a lot of reasons - it's got a slightly twisted, yet romantic reputation, it seems really accessible, it seems like it doesn't take much work or practice.  It's an easy-entry art, but not one that is easily cultivated.  To become excellent at the craft of writing takes as much work as it takes to be a great quarterback or an astronaut or a software programmer - yet we don't have a playbook, a set of rules to function in zero gravity, or a perfect textbook to follow.  

Ask yourself if this is how you want to express yourself creatively - is this idea you are hounding a written idea - maybe it's an opera, a circus show, a painting, a song.  Maybe you need a collaborator to bring the words, because what you are interested in is something else.  Don't be afraid to ask this question.  You could be beating yourself over the head for a long while if you don't.  Don't tell yourself that everyone can write, so you just need to work harder, and therefore miss the inner voice that's telling you to sing, or design beautiful buildings, or join Cirque Du Soleil! 

If the answer to the question is no - then go find your true creative path and pursue it doggedly.  If the answer to the question is yes, or you are in a position where the answer is no, but the reality is yes (like finishing your PhD thesis), I'm afraid you should just go back to Step 1 and proceed back down the list...

(This blog is part of a series - you can look the others up on the side, or go to the blog search and type "writing is not a Mystery" - either should work.)

Writing Is Not A Mystery - The Myth of Writer's Block (Part 3)

In Part 1 of The Myth of Writer's Block we looked at having too few ideas and how that plays out.  In Part 2 we looked at what happens when you  have too many.
These are two huge challenges that go undiagnosed as we ascribe more and more power to the idea of "Writer's Block."

Yet, they are just the tip of the iceberg.  Almost anything can derail the process if you fall prey to it - and we lump most of it under the term "Writer's Block."

The blank page is daunting; occasionally beautiful, but mostly daunting.

The blank page is dastardly.  It represents infinity, and its opposite, the null set.  Everything and nothing.  Every possibility you've dreamed; every failure you can possibly project.  The blank page is a barometer of fear and loathing.

The blank screen may be worse - as it offers myriad ways to click into internet bliss.

The already-written page can be annoying, boring, and invoke fits of housecleaning in the most chore-averse people on the planet.  Re-reading what you've written, editing, fashioning the end result from the raw ingredients is a lot of work.  It requires patience, a good eye, courage and tenacity.

However, lack of focus is not writer's block - it's lack of focus.  Unwillingness to wade through the morass of words to find the story is not writer's block.

There is no writer's block.

There can be a pervasive feeling of inadequacy; there can be non-belief in your story, your words; there can be shortcomings of technique to express it properly.

Writer's do themselves a massive disservice by calling any of this Writer's Block.  This can result in literally supporting the block - refusing to let the symptoms show means that there can be no cure.

You end up as a sporadic writer with a fickle muse.  This makes you moody and inconsistent as a person.  It makes you wonder all kinds of things you don't need to wonder (oh, but what a great opportunity for a free write that is!).

What it doesn't do is get the words out.  And this is, after all, what it means to be a writer.

You've got to know yourself to write.  You've got to create an intimate relationship with you to get the words down on the page.  You've got to deal with yourself.  You've got to self-govern.  You've got to figure out how long a leash you need.  You've got to figure out how hard you have to play to get down to work.  You've got to know when housecleaning is downright procrastinating and when it's actually letting ideas rise to the top, or it's just ick - you really need to clean your home.  You've got to learn when going out with friends and drinking too damn much is going to clear your mind to leave you free and easy in your next writing session, or when it's a delusional foray into hipster oblivion.  You've got to know when to go out and get laid.  You've go to know when to take a walk on the beach and clear your head.

And then you've got to write when it is time to write.  The more you sit down to it, the more often it will be time to write.  I swear and I promise.

Figure out what the problem is before you name it.  Then, use your skills to defuse it.  Get help if you need it.  Talk it out, walk it out, write it out, ride it out.  Remember what you know - names are powerful and often acquire force in the naming.  Be bigger than it is - it's your monster in a box - you put it there, and you can open the lid and peer inside.

As artists, we inevitably start and end with ourselves.  As humans, we are trapped in our skins and circumstances, prey to sensory misperceptions and unconscious motives.   If we don't learn the labyrinths of our own inner workings, it makes it very hard to map the artistic process.  (Don't worry - you won't get bored; we are consistently changing.)

If your temperament and lifestyle only suggest a few hours of writing a week - then make that fine.  Sit down with that.  Contorting yourself into your idea of what a writer is or does - this is most assuredly going to lead to writer's block.  Build your chops - progress in the process.  Let a regimen evolve according to your needs and abilities.

There are tools that can help you - daily free writes, timed writing, using prompts, talking your story into a recorder, talking it out with a partner, artist dates, walks, meditation.  Use the ones that work for you.

“Use only that which works, and take it from any place you can find it.” 

- Bruce Lee

What if the block is not a block?  What if it's a building block?  What if it's air?  What if it's a foundation?  You are a writer - the imagination is your specific province - we create worlds from words.  That block, writer, it's whatever you want it to be.

What would Bruce Lee do?

(And...no - we're still not finished with Writer's Block.  I promise you some tools for diagnosis next time!)

(This blog is part of a series - you can look the others up on the side, or go to the blog search and type "writing is not a Mystery" - either should work.)

Writing Is Not A Mystery - Stealing From Yourself

When researching writer Raymond Chandler for a project that never happened, I came upon a lot of criticism of him and his writing.  One of the criticisms leveled at him from multiple sources was that he "stole from himself."  Now, even if you could steal from yourself, which seems impossible, I'm not even sure that it's worth mentioning.  However, what was being referred to was that he took earlier short stories, like the ones he had published in pulp fiction mags, and later re-worked them into novels.  This meant, to the critics, that he had run out of ideas, and that he was going back and stealing earlier ideas to create something to sell.

I'm quite the Chandler aficionado, and have been through all of his papers at the UCLA Archive and read lots of books and I have to say - I don't think that was what he was doing.

Chandler taught himself to write keystroke by painful keystroke.  He wrote at night, after a day in an office counting beans, and slowly but surely began getting published by the kinds of magazines that pay a penny a word.  It took him a long time to get from there to full time writer and he wasn't a young man when he began.  The writer who wrote "Blackmailers Don't Shoot" is not the writer who co-wrote the flawless screenplay for Double Indemnity.

Chandler was his own worst critic - he was well-educated, he lived in his head, in a bottle, and when he could, up a skirt (there's a theme emerging here if you add in Bukowski, Miller and some of the others), but he was not what you'd call a people person.  I believe writing was painstaking for him and creating stories meant teaching old muscles new tricks - his gift for analysis and criticism seem far more natural to him than those for spinning a good yarn.

My guess is that Chandler wanted another crack at what he thought were good plots or characters, now that he was a more assured writer.  Now that he had an expanded audience and an ability to tell stories on a grander scale, I think he wanted to stretch out certain concepts.  I think it's why he didn't mind having his writing adapted for the screen, yet mostly worked on other people's stories as a screenwriter.  He knew the material itself had multiple lives, and in reality, only lives in the mind of its audience  - the bigger the audience, the better.

There are a couple of lessons from this - one is go ahead and steal from yourself.  The other is don't try to run a marathon without training.

Chandler didn't start by writing novels.  He started small and worked up to a bigger canvas. He flexed his muscles for dialogue, character traits, settings, plot twists and then when he got good enough by his own reckoning, he tackled the 26.2 miles of a novel.

There's nothing wrong with this.  In fact, it's a good way to work.  Seeds of Woody Allen's biggest box office hit ever - Midnight in Paris - came from a short story he wrote decades before and the screenplay has scored multiple awards, including an Oscar.  (Also noteworthy - Mr. Allen made a time travel movie with NO visual effects.)

Chandler is expressly not guilty of what I see all the time in first spoken word pieces or first screenplays or novels - trying to tell the audience everything you know and everything you are about in one work.  You are limitless, your imagination is limitless and a work of art is held by time or space or both.  Let go of trying to cram it all in that first push -- you will get a much better story by focusing on that particular story.  You can have more novels like you can have more children - it takes work, dedication and commitment, but in the end you can have a whole shelf of books, instead of just one.  And they will be much better books.

That's my goal.

(There's another lesson in here - nothing is ever wasted.  My research on Chandler has left me in very good stead a number of times.)



(This blog is part of a series - you can look the others up on the side, or go to the blog search and type "writing is not a Mystery" - either should work.)

Writing Is Not A Mystery - Go Organic

(We are so not done with the subject of Writer's Block, but we're changing it up this week. Writer's Block will come back - be assured.)

There are generally three choices when writing - obvious, organic, and inventive.

When I was studying the Spolin Technique and doing  experimental theatre (no, really), my director warned against being clever.  I had no idea what he meant.  What was wrong with clever?  Clever meant smart or witty or intelligent, funny with an edge - why not clever?

It took a while to see it, but clever isn't neccessarily those things.  It's a surface grasping to diffuse or change a situation from what it is into something else more manageable.  It's inventing a reality.  (I'm using invent here as a broader term to embrace clever and other similar modes.  I'm not at all trying to put down innovation or the creation of something new; I'm using invent in a more specific sense we can hopefully define as we go along.)

What's the difference between shows like The Wire with rabid fanbases across all boundaries, and network procedurals  which have fans who tune in to be lulled into forgetting their own world for 52 minutes?  I believe it begins with the writing.  Shows like The Wire, Sopranos, The Shield, Breaking Bad have a tremendously different approach.

The defining image for Breaking Bad is a middle-aged white guy out in the desert, shirt on, pants off, gun in hand.  This image is iconic because it asks a lot of questions and gives no answers.  It might be sad or funny or some new feeling we haven't approached yet.  If you've seen the first episode of the show, then you know how Walt got there - no pants on in the middle of the dessert.  How'd he get there?  Writer/creator Vince Gilligan put him there.

Think for a minute of the same image, only pants on.  Nothing, right?  Pants on, shirt off.  Something, but not the right thing.  Did the writer start with this image and work around it?  Possibly.  But he arrived at this state of being for Walt from spooling a story that makes logical and emotional sense for all of the characters in the situation.

Walt is wearing no pants because (SPOILERS) 1:  Walt cooks without his clothes on - odd, but reasonable in the cirucumstances - he doesn't want his family to know that he is doing this and he is afraid they will smell something strange on him; he doesn't want to have to make excuses.  2:  There was quite a fracas in the trailer, leaving Walt running around naked.  3:  He was able to grab his shirt.  4:  His pants went flying, leaving him in his skivvies.

So the iconic image is born from extreme, but real circumstances --- the choices are organic to the story and the situation these characters find themselves inhabiting.  It is not "Wouldn't it be cool if he didn't have any pants on," and it is equally not he's just wearing his regular clothes, a bit torn and burned, but nonetheless dressed (who cares?).

It's the kind of choice that makes Breaking Bad a very different show from every show that came before it.  Makes this world and these characters unique, but simultaneously believable - we start wondeirng if our next door neighbor the car dealer might not be running crack on the side.

Walt without pants is intellectually harder to write than Walt dressed, but it's not narratively harder to write.  It's easier.  Why?  Because Walt without pants brings with him a whole set of possibilities that can be addressed.  Situations open themselves up -- by constraining him to not having pants, you are also forcing him to deal with that problem.  Dealing with that problem gives you options for him to be humiliated, to be smarter than his situation, to be deceptive, to get into further trouble.  Any and all of these have the potential for raising the stakes, connecting us more deeply to Walt as a protagonist, introducing new characters, adding humour, adding real pathos.  They are juicy and filled with opportunity.  Zesty.

Writing organic seems harder, but in fact, it's easier.  When writers start to feel like something isn't working, or they don't know what to have happen next, the tendency is to go directly toward the extremes of obvious or inventive.  Either something entirely pedestrian happens, or something completely out of the blue, which has to be invented at great expense of time and brain cells to the writer.  Both options are used to serve the plot developing as it has been carefully pre-visioned, and prevent glitches that have to be handled later in the writing of a draft.

In a roundabout fashion (very roundabout), it is a choice made from laziness.  It's easier to circumvent the reality now, than have to deal with the fallout of a reality-based choice later.  Ouch.  Making this choice means the writer now has to write around reality for the rest of the draft in order to keep it on course, letting the plot's needs for events to happen steer the characters, instead of the characters needs and actions create the plot.  It seems an easier choice to make up front, but the back end is messy.  Not only does the writing of the draft become difficult, but choices become murky when there is no longer a basis for the right choice.  The writer circumvents gut and reality, and is left (hopefully, at least) with a story outline to follow.  Writing can become boring and lonely, and the draft that ensues is usually listless and lost.

When doing script consultations, I find this to be one of the biggest causes of the story derailing and the stakes being too low.  I worked with a writer who had a main character who had taken out a very large loan he couldn't pay back.  The crux of the story is that he was forced to pretend to be someone else in order to make money.  In the initial draft, there was no visible threat from the debt.  His house, car, and lifestyle were in tact.  The debt was mentioned in exposition as a problem, but no one ever came to collect.  Nothing bad happened to him, but still the character had to be thrust into this deception.

I began to ask questions, Well, what if they take away his car?  What if they take away his furniture?  What if he brings the girl home and there's a truck there to take away his possessions?  What if he suddenly has nowhere to live?

Questions like these that naturally arise in this situation can lead to some great new answers.  More conflict comes in, the stakes get raised, and the character becomes more accessible to the audience.  They may seem problematic at first - now I have to figure out where he's going to live? - but they offer opportunities, too -- what if a grown man has to move back in with his parents;  what if he has to impose on his best friend - ways to heighten the drama, create more tension, expose the gaps between characters.  You don't have to choose everything - one truly grave consequence might be enough to get the audience on board and propel your story, but choosing something that's truthful in the context of the story is always going to be a great option.  It's also going to have its own narrative engine - which means all you have to do is steer.

When you get stuck, try asking yourself a question, or two or three.  Specific questions about what would really happen here - what's the most likely thing to happen here?  What's the best thing that might happen?  What's the worst thing that could happen?  Your path may be down one of those roads.  It's true - movies, art, books - they are not real life.  But the ones that base their choices on real life choices are always the ones that have lasting relevance.

Write real to get to the drama.

This problem doesn't just occur in script writing and fiction.  It can happen in poetry.  The cute ending is an outgrowth of this.  It's an easy out, it leaves the audience thinking, "oh, that was a cute ending" and nothing more.  They won't remember the piece the next day and the rest won't resonate.  Why?  Because the ending, cute though it might be - matching your metaphor -  is not of the poem.  It's a smirk or a wink tacked onto the poem.  It's the idea of how the poem should end - probably one you had before tackling the actual poem.  It ends up undercutting your poem - making it less visceral and memorable for the audience.  Just when the writer's supposed to get in there and wrestle with the material, they jump ship - closing a serious poem with an ill-fitting quip, or other non-poetic devices that release the writer from the intimacy they have begun with the piece.

Just like a screenplay or novel, a poem is a journey.  It can be a tiny journey, a fragment, a picture without a frame, a frame without a picture.  Yet a good poem - no matter how short or long, no matter the style or intended audience - resonates.  It sings.  It does this by hanging in the air on its own vibration once it's done.  The cute ending tragically cuts short the life of the poem like performing euthanasia on a healthy body.  Follow the poem, let it lead you.  It has its own ideas - just like characters do, just like groups of characters do, like situations do.  Good poems have conflict just like good stories - don't insert yourself between the writing and the potential conflict, blocking the way to its expression - this is how to get pedestrian writing - stand back and expose the conflict -- it's the paydirt, the motherlode, it's where the drama is, where the connection to the audience lies.

"I saw the angel in the marble and carved until I set him free.”

- Michelangelo

THIS is our job as writers.  This and only this.  The story, the poem, the novel, the script - when it's working, it comes right through you.  Get out of the way so you can see it, then reveal it.  That reveal is where all the hard work lies - like chipping marble with tiny hammers, it might take time - maybe years, but it is the work, and it can create something breathtaking.

Go out there and find your piece of marble and get to work.

(This blog is part of a series - you can look the others up on the side, or go to the blog search and type "writing is not a Mystery" - either should work.)

Writing Is Not A Mystery - The Myth of Writer's Block (Part 2)

Last week the topic was not enough ideas - an empty jar.  Another common cause of what people like to call "Writer's Block" is its opposite.  Either way - the result is the same:  you sit down, and nothing comes out.

So let's go back to the funnel.

Have you ever tried to get jellybeans from one jar to another through a funnel?  You tip over the top jar and empty it into the funnel and the jellybeans manage to create a formation that completely stops the flow, blocks the opening, and still - empty jar - despite having tons of jellbeans!

So you kind of start over, shake the funnel, pick at the jellybeans - it's a painful process and you wonder what's so great about a funnel anyway.

Having too many things to say when you sit down to write is a lot like that clogged funnel.  What you want is a steady flow - a river of words - a lovely stream, and what you get is the Holland Tunnel at rush hour - nothing's moving.

Your brain might look a lot like that Lego picture up there - you trudging up and down in impossible directions, with no true North, no sense of where gravity lies, no silence in the chaos.

It's an extremely frustrating situation, however, it's not bad.  The more you sit down, the more ideas you get out of your life and into that jar - the less of a problem it's going to be.  This problem will remedy itself over time.

Too many ideas is the best possible problem - as long as you can handle them.

But you must start somewhere.  And I'm afraid to say it again, but that begins with sitting down.

If you need a way in - try this exercise:

- Write down all of you writing project ideas

- From those, choose 10

- Put the top 10 in order of most to least interested

- Look at your top 3

- Choose 1

- Write!

Now - this may not be enough for you.  It may be that you know your number 1 project is a novel and you know what the novel is about and you want very badly to write this novel and no other and you get stuck every time you start.  (Still - you should do the above exercise to make sure this is where your energy lies - you might have something else churning that wants attention.)

If you know exactly what you want to be writing, but are still not writing, then you're in the place where a coach can help, and yes, disclaimer, I do do this.

However, here are some things you can try yourself:

- Don't get married to starting in a particular place - write what's on the top of your head.  Sometimes, people get obsessed with starting at the beginning and going forward, or mapping out the ending.  My advice, echoing Pema Chodron's book title is:  start where you are.  Just get it down - whatever it is, all of it.  Then - if it's not what you need to focus on, file it with a name that makes it easy to find again in a folder you will look at and move on.

This makes some writers uncomfortable; there is a nervousness about letting something go, or losing something en route.  In order to make gravy, my grandmother always skimmed the fat off the juices first.  Then she added her flour and mixed it all up in the pan with a fork.  So gravy was born, after that layer of fat was taken away.  She didn't lose anything - being a Depression Era child, she held onto the fat (in a tin coffee container) and used it for other things.  You're not losing anything by starting where you are - you're freeing up the good stuff, and saving the rest for possible use later.  Gravy.

Our brains are excellent parallel processors, but they do not have infinite capacity.  Brains get stuck on certain memes and create trails to and from them - it's how habits are formed, it's how technique and craft are created.  Don't let the brain's pecadillos choose what you are going to write and how your craft is going to form  -- YOU CHOOSE it.  Those little dancing droplets hanging out around your third eye write them down and send them on their way so you can focus on what you really want and need to say.

- Write everything you know about it - If it's just an idea, if it's not all the way there, my advice is always to write every single thing you know about it.  If it started in a dream, write the dream out, write the way you felt when you woke up, write any colors you saw, anything you heard, write down the name of the song that haunts you in relation to it.  You can use research and put in links to images or sounds that will spark you.  I'm a big fan of Evernote for organizing these kinds of details; you might prefer Pinterest - but there are free tools out there for you - use them!  Once you've safely downloaded (from the physical world and from your brain) everything about this thing that is haunting you and wants to be written, but possibly isn't fully cooked, you can walk away and know that you can come back to it at any time and it will all be there for you.  The more detail you get down - the more easily you will spark the same neurons when you go back to it and be able to get right into the flow of the ideas once more.

- Do an outline - if this is a large project, this is a great way to start.  Inspiration-based writers can find this to be a block.  (But we've already gotten debunked the persnickety concept of Inspiration, so why not have a go at it?)  The best things about an outline is that you're suddenly not forced to write the entire thing every time you sit down.  You can choose one item, write it, and go on about your day.  Tomorrow, choose another item.  (Your items might take longer than one writing session, but you get the idea.)

NOTHING is written in one draft, you will ALWAYS have to go back and work transitions and timelines, so writing out of order isn't sacrificing flow, or time spent writing.  Sometimes, though, it gives you signposts to the key scenes, big changes, or touchstones of a piece - it can be a powerful way to work.

- Start with a writing exercise or prompt - One of my favorites came through The Constant Creator - Poetry for Character Development.  Basically, you write poems in a form about the characters in your piece.  It's great for backstory, but I've also pulled entire scenes out of this exercise.  This exercise works for fiction, screenplays and plays.  If you're writing something else, search the internet for writing prompts - you'd be surprised how many come up.

- Write about 1 aspect of the project and let go - Start by writing a character bio, a description of a place in the piece, a meditation on the time period.  If you are writing non-fiction, try writing a mission statement:  why are you writing what you are about to write.  Keep going once you've gotten through this - more will come.

- Free write.  It's really the solution to so many problems.  Blank page - pen - and keep writing.  And yes - do this by hand!  If you need to, add music, or an image - some touchstone. If you use an image or music, keep in mind marrying it back to the topic at hand, the thing you'd like to write.

So get going.  While too many ideas often manifest as a blockage - I wouldn't term it Writer's Block.  That term has taken on a life over the course of its usage that points to a kind of paralysis only lifted by some Deus Ex Machina.  The term is loaded, and suggests something undiagnosable and big is going on somewhere in the writer's psyche preventing actual writing.  Anything that feels like Writer's Block needs more careful inspection - too few ideas, too many ideas - these are just a couple of the the causes.  We'll look at more as we go on - and remember, you are not alone.  Most of these are universal - occasional, temporary, but universal.

See you next week!

(This blog is part of a series - you can look the others up on the side, or go to the blog search and type "writing is not a Mystery" - either should work.)