I am stuck.
There.
I said it.
I am stuck. Stuck. Stuck.
It isn’t for wanting ideas. I absolutely drowning in some (possibly) brilliant ideas right now.
For example: a dystopian situation where a young girl is taken to an orphanage by a stranger, it’s unclear where all the other people are. It’s just her and this man. Her sister and parents have disappeared. At the orphanage two men let her in but then kill the stranger and take his body somewhere else. The next day, a family arrives. The father is dying. The two men let the boy in but turn away the father and mother, who is fine and very sad to let her son go. That’s the build up. But then what happens? Not sure. When I close my eyes, it’s like a twisted Wes Anderson movie.
Or this: A woman gets a call from her younger sister, who is living somewhere in the New Mexican desert with a deadbeat boyfriend. “I need help,” the younger sister says. So the older sister goes out to the desert very reluctantly and man oh man do readers know they are in for something. She finds out her sister’s boyfriend, who is still a dirtbag, has stolen a tremendous amount of money from a dangerous man. There are dead bodies and various shoot-outs and, oh yeah, the sisters share a secret about some past criminal activity that might destroy both their lives.
Or this: A man and a woman go on vacation in Rome to try to save their marriage. Things aren’t great and when they go for a walk the Palatine Hill, the husband disappears. Poof. Gone. With the backpack that had the wife’s wallet and phone. She makes it back to the hotel and is met with either piteous or smug looks by the hotel staff. When they let her into her room, her phone, wallet, and passport are on the bed. Her husband and his things are gone. Poof. As she retraces the moments, days, months, years leading to his disappearance, she begins to think that she never knew him. Not really.
So I’m stuck. But not really.
All of these projects are started, scrawled out on a notebook that is a hot mess of brilliance (“Two sisters at a laundromat in El Paso with a stolen Mustang and a six pack of beer watching their laundry spin and praying the blood comes out.”) or something else entirely (“Nobody is good. That dull spoon nobody wants. Maybe that’s the point?!?”)
I’m doing all the things that usually work. Walking. Thinking. Staring at the wall. Talking to literally anybody who will listen. Including Jack, who is my dog. Or my sons, who on good days half-listen to some of what I say.
I have entirely randomly decided that the trouble is thus: I can hold the plot of a short story in my head. From beginning to end. But longer projects? I hold the threads and it’s a little like being a kid and making a friendship bracelet and missing a step. Or holding the string of a kite and then a big wind kicks up and the kite is gone and the thread is snapped.
Do I start over? Do I keep going? Do I rework the bits that I wake up in the middle of the night hating? By the way, is it just me or is this thing that I’m working on the worst thing ever to be written or thought or half-thought? It’s not even good enough to be a full thought.
I do have some strategies. I’ve retreated to poetry. I’m listening to James Lee Burke’s audio books, which are pretty lovely, and watching a lot of little league. I’m working my way through Lori Rader-Day’s complete backlist in preparation for Crime Bake. And I do sit my butt in that chair everyday and get something out. (Though I make no promises as to the quality.)
I just read Vaughn’s post about rabbit holes and the pomodori approach. Maybe I’ll try tomorrow?
I’m wondering, if you write – what helps you get unstuck? Is this a normal phase you’ve experienced? Any tricks? For those of you who write novels and short stories – is there some sort of mental gymnastics that helps gear you up for longer pieces?
You don’t sound all that stuck? Although, you might not be at the point in life for writing a full novel with all that you have going on? I know it got easier for me when the kids moved out and I left my day job. Big difference. Write what works for you. Write on.
I am definitely busy and the kids are, too. I think it’s that it’s hard for me to hold that thread for the longer plotting pieces. The way my brain works, I probably need to work on it a little every day so I don’t lose it.
Oh my, yes. There’s a special little hell being a storyteller, filled with stories that won’t let you tell them in their entirety. My idea file is pages long with really interesting story kernels, most of which, I know, will never see the light of day. Butt in chair is one approach, but I’m coming to think there might be others that work given wherever our heads are in the moment. Maybe it can be better to turn down the idea volume, letting the mad music of our creative brain be background music for a bit, the whisper of inspiration during little league. At least that seems to be what’s working for me right now, especially on longer work.
Great suggestion, Robert! And it’s good to know I’m not the only one.
I found Places of Power, spots or locations that gave me the next action in my first novel. Driving past Sheepscot Pottery always seemed to give me the answer when I was stuck on a plot piece. In Hartland, I had two–weeding the garden and washing dishes while looking into our back yard. Here in Waterville, it is the heated pool at the Alfond Center. I bet you have one and haven’t yet realized its power.
I love this suggestion, John. I’m going to really try to figure out where my places of power are. Maybe my garden? Definitely watching little league…
This is what I have to do: don’t let myself off the hook. Become a full-fledged pant-ser for a day – keep the characters talking and give them monologues about their POV of life, their pasts, their beliefs, have them confront the protagonist in sly or mean or manipulative ways – pull hard on that sardine can top – it will open and reveal those luscious fishes
This is a great idea – it takes some of the pressure off when you don’t know what to do with the plot. Definitely going to try this today.
I find every story is different and has its own rhythm. Also, sometimes, that it’s not writer’s block but story block. In my first book, I got over my reluctance to outline by writing the pieces I did know, the ones that were clear, like those sisters in the laundromat. Then I made an outline of what I needed to connect those scenes, and then a second outline to add in what was missing. Making yourself sit in the chair is important. So is getting away from the desk to let the story cook. Like John, gardening at this season is very meditative. So are the times heading into and out of sleep, when the story starts working. All amazing ideas you’ve described. Pick one and see where it leads.
Kate
I haven’t tried writing the pieces I know and then connecting them. I think my brain wants to have it all figured out before I start – which does not work for longer stuff. I’m going to try thinking through the pieces I know and then going from there. Great suggestions, Kate.
I hesitated to hit the like button, but I didn’t see a hug button.
YES! It’s completely normal – okay, maybe not for everyone, but for me. I stall at least once every book. When it happens to me, I have two solutions. First, I write the scenes I know. Doesn’t matter if I can’t see how they connect to the larger story. That will come. If I can’t come up with scenes, then I stop. Full stop. Do something else not related to writing. Crochet, swim, bake, run, hike. I’ll give myself a week. Then, when I paste my butt to the chair again, things perk and words flow.
It makes a huge difference knowing this is part of the process. You are describing a similar thing to Kate, which is so liberating. I think I was trying to hold the whole story and figure it out in sequential order. Writing the bits I know out of order isn’t something I’d thought to try and am definitely going to. Thank you!
Reading poetry often gets me back on track. And beachwalking. Both change my headset.
I have every confidence you’ll get unstuck. Your level of talen can be contained for only so long.
Thank you! I picked up some great ideas from these comments and already feel excited to try a few new things.
I set a brainstorm question when I start on a run. (I have to be on a very familiar trail for this to work.) It’s often about the next stage in the story, not the overall plot, which I never know until the first draft is finished. I come home with ideas, more ideas than I ever get sitting at my desk. Somehow, my free-ranging mind outdoors and active is unstuck. Other people do this kind of creative thinking while gardening or cleaning. It’s intentional and yet unforced. Once I’m downloading my desert inspirations into the WIP, the characters correct my course if I’m off, or they add depth I didn’t see coming.