Overcoming Writer's Block: An Inspirational True Story (Part 2)

For two years, I did not write. I made due with journaling and poetry. But it wasn't the same. Sure, poetry was nice because I could write and edit the entire poem in a day or less. But it was not a novel. I wanted the drive, the writer's high, the sponge-brain I got from being creatively drained after a long day of writing. For two years, I starved for it. I had ideas, sometimes felt inspired. I'd sit down and...nothing. A few pages would trickle forth before the inspiration dried up.Where once I had a muse, now I had only wishful thinking.

This past December, I published the third Superiors Series novel and began reading over some old ya stuff I'd written. It wasn't bad. I dug through the files and inevitably landed on my favorite, the last novel I'd finished before writer's block set in. It wasn't bad, either. In fact, I got sucked in and read the entire book, editing a bit as I went. I thought I'd add some scenes between the protag and a future love interest and, to make it realistic, a few background characters.

It. Was. Like. Pulling. My. Own. Teeth.

The words did not flow. They were as hard to write as it is to read the inappropriately punctuated sentence above. Through much frustration, I forced what no longer came naturally. Then I went back to the first novel in the series, the unfinished one, and finished it. The ending wasn't great. I'll probably change it if I ever publish. It was more summarizing what I knew happened than showing the events unfold. But as I finished the few scenes, something began to happen. A bit-part character began to nag at me, circling like a mosquito. This had happened before, so I wasn't too hopeful.

Surrendering to the quiet nagging, I began to write the novel that was tentatively asking if it could be written. It petered out after a few pages, as most of my ideas over the past few years had. But my muse-troll had begun to scratch one stiff finger against the grimy, dust-covered block that had held me back for two years. Then it knocked a hole in the block and peered at me with its beady little eye. It taunted me with promises too good to be believed. I hated that thing by now. I told it to shut up.

It refused to be silenced. This story did not ask if it should be written. It demanded to be. So I began to write...painfully, haltingly, uncertainly. I made every excuse to procrastinate, distract myself, and avoid the call of duty. I spent hours pinning, unfollowing unfollowers, and exploring the creepy world of instagram hastags. I struggled through passages of my novel, rewrote, rearranged, deleted, added, rearranged again. It seemed an impossible task. How had I done this so many times before? Why was I putting myself through it again? And why on earth did I think I'd missed it?

I finished the novel last week, the first I've written in over 2 years. I'm still shaking off the dust, or, more aptly, chipping away at the block. But maybe, just maybe, I'll tear the whole thing down. If not, and this was just some sort of fluke...I've always got the backlog.

This is the way that love ends.

"This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
Not with a bang but a whimper."--TS Eliot, The Hollow Men

Though T.S. Eliot had bigger ideas than love, thanks to Valentines Day, that is the topic on many minds today. And though the poem is not a love poem, it aptly describes the end of love. For most of us, this is how love ends. Not with a bang, not with heart-rending wails of loss, but with a quiet fading of affection, with the proverbial whimper. It's not as dramatic as the movies would have us believe. It's more mundane than our romantic hearts want to admit. Although some may point to the end of love as the moment immediately preceded by affairs, betrayals, and other drama, that is usually not the case. Those events cause the heart-rending wails. By the time love is gone, there is no more wailing. That requires an intensity of passion that we no longer possess.

This is the way love ends. With the realization that you no longer care what she's saying. With the realization that you would rather stay at the office a few more hours than go home to him. With the realization that your friends are more interesting than your lover. That you are more interesting.

This is the way love ends. Quietly, so gradually we hardly notice. Bit by bit, day by day, we have lost the will to put in the effort, to expend the energy needed to make a relationship thrive. We have lost the desire to please our partners, and more tellingly, the desire for them to find us pleasing. He no longer wears the sweater she bought him that he never liked but wore to make her smile. He no longer compliments her, not because he no longer appreciates her, but because he no longer notices her. She no longer wears his favorite perfume, no longer dresses up for him. She's given up on being noticed, perhaps no longer wants to be noticed.

This is the way love ends. With two people sitting on opposite ends of the couch without speaking. With two people sitting at the dinner table without speaking. With two people shutting off the lights and climbing into bed together and turning to face opposite walls. Not out of anger, but because they have nothing to say to each other, because they can't be bothered to start a conversation. Not because they are avoiding touch but because they have forgotten that the urge to reach for each other was ever present.

This is the way love ends.
This is the way love ends.
This is the way love ends.
Not with an irate lover throwing the contents of the closet out the window,
But with an obligated sigh as we dutifully trudge onwards.

For some, Valentines Day is all about chocolate and roses and sappy Hallmark cards. For others, it has a darker side. This year, some authors invited me to join their blog hop celebrating the grisly, dark side of love. Find a list of their posts by clicking on the link below.
http://afstewartblog.blogspot.ca/?m=1

    The Bloody Valentine Blog Hop

Overcoming Writer's Block: An Inspirational True Story (Part 1)

I used to be quite the prolific writer. I wrote a series of 6 ya novels in seven months, only to learn that, by industry standards, each book was actually the length of 3 ya novels. Therefore, if I divided them into industry-sized ya novels, I wrote the equivalent of 18 ya novels in a span of 6-8 months. Then, though it was challenging and a struggle at times, I slogged my way through the 7 vampire novels in The Superior series in 6 months. Yes, this was during a time when I thought I was slow and uninspired. I had lots of bad days. Of course, back then a good day meant writing for 16 hours straight, churning out 50 pgs in a day, a novel in a week.

Then came a dry spell. Oh, the horror! I had writer's block. I went back and edited some of those bazillion books I'd churned out during the year. I soon found inspiration for a dystopian series, though not particularly original. I wrote 3 of those novels before running across a short story that inspired me to write 3 other ya sci-fi novels.

Wait, I'm not done yet.

That summer, I struggled through a YA novel, and got within chapters of the end before being distracted by a supporting character. I wrote a novel about her instead, and then one about her best friend, then one about her brother (also close to finished, but left without the final few chapters). This entire writing frenzy/binge/burst occurred over two years.

Now you can hate me. 

Around this time, I began dating the man I later married. But, I stopped writing. I was not inspired. I was busy, so I shrugged it off. I had lots going on in my life, and I'd had a few dry spells before. I figured it would last a month, and then I'd go back to churning out a book every few weeks.

I didn't.

As time went on, I became increasingly suspicious that my writing career was finished. I tried to console myself with the knowledge that I had a huge backlog of unedited novels to edit and publish. But as any writer knows, editing is a whole different thing from writing. Writing is creative. Editing is analytical. Writers don't write so that we will have something to edit. We write because we have stories that demand telling. Stories that will not let us rest until they are birthed from the rankest recesses of our brains.

Writers don't write to publish. While writing my first series, I didn't care that no one had read my writing or even knew that I wrote. I knew. My characters knew.

Now, I had no characters. I had no stories clamoring for release. I was barren.

I was blocked.

Accepting or Rejecting Writer Advice

You see it every day, all over Facebook, Pinterest boards, Twitter, and every other electronic forum/social media site: quotes by famous authors on writing. Memes. Funny e-cards. All with an overwhelming amount of advice for the hoards of us struggling through, and a lucky few breezing through, our novels. Every time I read one of these, I think it's a great quote with merit. So what happens when these famous authors begin to contradict one another? Do you choose to follow the advice of the one you admire more? The, "I want to be like him so I'll follow his advice" attitude. If that worked, we'd have many more Hemingways and Twains than we do.

With as many writers as we've had, and even more now, it's inevitable that all the advice won't be in perfect agreement. Writers love giving advice. Nowhere can you find a people more fascinated by our profession than writers. Why? Because it's a mystery. The well-known comparison of novel and baby works here, too. There's nothing a pregnant woman loves talking about more than pregnancy. Why? Because that baby growing inside is like some kind of miracle, some wonderful mystery. So, too, is the novel taking place in the writer's head. The only solution is to seek to explain it somehow, make sense of something that makes very little sense even to those doing it.

As with love, as with motherhood, there is no perfect way to write a novel. There are pantsers and planners. There are those who say, with regards to writing as well as love, "If it's worth working for, you must work for it!" and those who say, "If it don't come easy, you better let it go." To this, I will throw in my own two cents. If it's coming easy, that's a wonderful thing. You are blessed. Don't stop writing for anything. Because one day, it may stop coming so easy. And when it does, you will have to, as Hemingway famously said, "Sit down at the typewriter, and bleed."

I speak from experience here. On several occasions I churned out 50 pages in one day, leaving my brain feeling like a cooked potato. Now, I'm lucky if I can pry 5 pages from my miserly muse. I couldn't tell you what changed for all the money in Mr. Gates's bank account. One day it was easy, and the next thing I knew, it wasn't. I thought this was a phase I would let pass, so I stopped writing fiction for two years. I kept a journal, went back to dabbling in poetry, came up with an idea or two and followed them for the ten or so pages until they turned to ether and vanished. And then, I got tired of waiting for the muse, and I sat down at my computer, and bled.

Yes, it is frustrating. Sometimes my characters refuse to tell me what's going on, so I make something up, and later, they tell me I was wrong, and I have to go back and change their family, their back story, even their names. But there is something on the page. And that's better than nothing. Maybe one day, my Prinspiration will come, scoop me up on the inspiration pony and ride away with me. Until then, I'll struggle to pull my ox out of the mud.

My best advice for writers is this: Don't stop writing. When it's easy, go with it. When it's hard, dig for it. When you finish it and it's amazingly magically perfect, set it aside and come back to it later (if it's a first draft, it's not perfect, I promise). When it's ugly, edit it and rewrite it until it's passable. Then, when you have finished one novel, whatever your process, whatever your product, pick up your proverbial pen and start all over again.

Get The Renegades Ebook Free

Hey everyone!

If you missed The Renegades Release Party last month, you can get it free this week on Amazon. This is the only week to get it free, as it's an Amazon promo. So head over and grab it while you can! Click on the cover below to link to the Amazon page.