Barbara Neville's Blog - Posts Tagged "writers-block"
The Muddy Middle
I've been hearing alot about half finished books, abandoned, withering away on a shelf. Or, in a hard drive.
MIddles are hard. They are where we lose faith. The manuscript, virtual or not, is getting long enough that it's hard to hold all it's elements in your mind. While, at the same time, creating the rest of the flow.
For me, I get characters introduced early. Plot moulders. Setting, the details: sights, sounds, feelings. Touch, and that other sense. They are waiting in the wings. But, I lose heart. Will they come onstage? Or will they die of stage fright? Will I throw in a sentence that gives the whole plot away? Or should I be doing just that?
My writer's strength came early. Just about three books in I realized that I could do it. Not sure how, but I could. Not I myself, but the inner me, my subconscious mind. Which works while I sleep, while I drive, while I watch TV and read books. It only works when I'm otherwise occupied You see, it's my subconscious mind that writes books. My conscious mind has to step aside and let it run with the flag. My inner writer works almost any time I'm away from the keyboard. I have to make notes in One Note, on scraps of paper, old envelopes. Anything that comes to hand. And I have to be sure I say enough that I know where the thought was going. I wrote a pretty large catalog of dead end note before I realized that.
But all that aside the middle is the time to have faith. Like the little engine that could. I know I can. I know It might be unbelievably slow, but I know I can. I may have to struggle in fits and starts through 30,000 words, But, I can. I just have to relax and never stare at a blank screen. Read a book, take a walk, pet the dog. Have faith in yourself. Write 200 words a day, it;'s okay.
And suddenly, one day 55,000 or so words in, I'm working away, started at 5 am. I'm thinking it must be about 9 am. I check the clock and realize that I missed lunch! I And, he gets a break, too. Most of the Injins and all of the pursuing soldiers seem to be headed north.
He grabs his horse. Steadying him and securing the binoculars in their case, he jumps aboard as the horse catches the scent of general panic and bolts, almost getting away from him.
He grabs the horn, pulls himself up into the center of the saddle and they run.
He’s hoping to work his way around out of sight. So he can head south, and catch up to them before Angus is killed.
He has to work his way around slowly, if he comes upon any people, so no one thinks he’s a part of the fray.
When he finally he gets south of the prison, he lucks into their tracks, then loses them. He works his way back and forth searching for the sign. Why do all hoofprints look alike?
As dark approaches, he comes upon the shod hoof prints of the hangman’s horse among all the barefoot Injin ponies. The one Angus was tied to.
But, as the darkness deepens into night, he loses them again. All he can do is soldier on. I was sucked totally, unconsciously into writer's bliss. The muse has returned!
Keep the faith. I know you can, too.
MIddles are hard. They are where we lose faith. The manuscript, virtual or not, is getting long enough that it's hard to hold all it's elements in your mind. While, at the same time, creating the rest of the flow.
For me, I get characters introduced early. Plot moulders. Setting, the details: sights, sounds, feelings. Touch, and that other sense. They are waiting in the wings. But, I lose heart. Will they come onstage? Or will they die of stage fright? Will I throw in a sentence that gives the whole plot away? Or should I be doing just that?
My writer's strength came early. Just about three books in I realized that I could do it. Not sure how, but I could. Not I myself, but the inner me, my subconscious mind. Which works while I sleep, while I drive, while I watch TV and read books. It only works when I'm otherwise occupied You see, it's my subconscious mind that writes books. My conscious mind has to step aside and let it run with the flag. My inner writer works almost any time I'm away from the keyboard. I have to make notes in One Note, on scraps of paper, old envelopes. Anything that comes to hand. And I have to be sure I say enough that I know where the thought was going. I wrote a pretty large catalog of dead end note before I realized that.
But all that aside the middle is the time to have faith. Like the little engine that could. I know I can. I know It might be unbelievably slow, but I know I can. I may have to struggle in fits and starts through 30,000 words, But, I can. I just have to relax and never stare at a blank screen. Read a book, take a walk, pet the dog. Have faith in yourself. Write 200 words a day, it;'s okay.
And suddenly, one day 55,000 or so words in, I'm working away, started at 5 am. I'm thinking it must be about 9 am. I check the clock and realize that I missed lunch! I And, he gets a break, too. Most of the Injins and all of the pursuing soldiers seem to be headed north.
He grabs his horse. Steadying him and securing the binoculars in their case, he jumps aboard as the horse catches the scent of general panic and bolts, almost getting away from him.
He grabs the horn, pulls himself up into the center of the saddle and they run.
He’s hoping to work his way around out of sight. So he can head south, and catch up to them before Angus is killed.
He has to work his way around slowly, if he comes upon any people, so no one thinks he’s a part of the fray.
When he finally he gets south of the prison, he lucks into their tracks, then loses them. He works his way back and forth searching for the sign. Why do all hoofprints look alike?
As dark approaches, he comes upon the shod hoof prints of the hangman’s horse among all the barefoot Injin ponies. The one Angus was tied to.
But, as the darkness deepens into night, he loses them again. All he can do is soldier on. I was sucked totally, unconsciously into writer's bliss. The muse has returned!
Keep the faith. I know you can, too.
