Writer’s Block

A few weeks ago, I invited readers of these Wanderings to let me know if there was anything they’d like to hear me wander on about.  Several people sent suggestions. Oddly, all were sent to my e-mail, rather than to the blog site.  Feel free to write me at jane2@janelindskold.com if you have something you’d like me to write about, but you’re too shy to post it here.

One of the topics I was asked about was Writer’s Block.  That particular issue caught my attention this week because, while I haven’t been blocked, I’ve had so many competing demands on my time that I found it hard to get back into my current novel (the sequel to Artemis Awakening) after I finished the short story I mentioned a couple weeks ago.  I finally gave myself permission to get the packages out, do the Christmas cards, plan holiday menus, and, basically, clear the decks so I could be a writer again.

My Salvation

So…  Here’ s the question.  “You always hear about ‘writer’s block.’  What do you do when you get ‘stuck’ creatively?    Does taking a break get you back on track?  How often does it happen?  What’s the worst you’ve ever experienced?”

Okay.  Let’s start with defining writer’s block, because there are a lot of misunderstandings about what it is.  Writer’s block is completely different from being “stuck” – that is, uncertain about where to take a story or how to resolve a problem in the plot or how to develop a character.  Pauses in the development of a story are something that every writer faces.  I talked some about how I deal with these hitches in the writing process in “Walking Away From It” (WW 8-11-10).

Writer’s block is completely different.  Writer’s block is a crippling inability to write.  I’m a disciplined and determined writer.  If I hadn’t encountered writer’s block personally, I think I’d be inclined to believe that it’s just an excuse not to write.  However, I’ve had it.  I know it’s real.  And really terrible.

Here’s what happened…  Many years ago, when I was teaching at Lynchburg College in Virginia, I also was working hard on getting established as a fiction writer.  Every day, no matter how demanding my day job, I’d make time to write.  When I finished a story and polished it, I’d send it out to one of the SF/F magazines.  Then I’d put it out of my mind and start something new.  When a story came back with a rejection, I’d go over it, then send it out again.  (This was in the late 1980s or early 1990s, so neither disposable manuscripts nor electronic submissions and correspondence had become routine.)

There came a day when I had five short stories out.   I was feeling hopeful that one of them would get published.  I came home from work, unlocked the tiny mailbox in my apartment house entryway, and found every single story I’d sent out smashed into the box.  Each had a form rejection.  I’m not sure that anyone had even looked at them.

My gut lurched, but I didn’t realize how hard that torrent of rejection had hit me until I sat down that evening to write.  I’d been working on a story.  I curled up with my pen and clipboard (I always wrote rough drafts long-hand) and my hand began to shake.  I couldn’t write a single word.   The story had vanished.  All I could envision was more rejection.  Maybe the couple of stories I’d already sold had been flukes.  Maybe I didn’t have what it took.

I gave myself that night off and graded papers instead.  The next night, I sat down to write.  Again, I started shaking.  Night after night, this went on.   It was horrible.  I could write letters.  I could write material for my classes.  I could write non-fiction.  But writing a story was impossible.

(I’ve got to pause here.  My heart’s racing with remembered fear and pain.)

What saved me was that my desire to tell a story was stronger than my fear that no one but me would ever read it.  I was teaching a course on mythology and one of my students asked, “Dr. Lindskold, I just don’t get this Orpheus guy.  What is it he does?”  I considered, then I said, “Well, Shannon, did you ever hear the story of the Pied Piper of Hamlin when you were a kid?  Orpheus was like that, except that it wasn’t just children or rats that were charmed by his music, it was everything,.  Even rocks or trees would try to get closer to him when he began to sing.”

And as the discussion continued, as we moved on to the eventual tragedy of Orpheus’s life, a small part of my brain that had been too long dormant came alive.  “What if,” it said, “Orpheus didn’t die?  What if he escaped the maenads?  What if he somehow lived to become the Pied Piper?”

That night, I took out pen and paper for the first time in forever.  I wasn’t writing, I assured myself.  I was just making a few notes.  Every page I filled, I slid to the back of my clipboard unread, unreviewed.  After all, I wasn’t writing.  Eventually, I had more than the clip could hold.  I put these in a folder and stuffed the folder on a shelf.  I kept writing until I had the longest thing I’d ever written.  Somewhere along the way, the block was beaten.

If this were a movie, I would then sell the novel immediately, win awards, and thumb my nose at those who had rejected me.  What happened in reality was that, even though this was a long piece, it wasn’t long enough.  When I sent it out, it got rejected.  However, eventually I expanded it, adding a second part to the story.  It would come out many years later as my third published novel, The Pipes of Orpheus.

I hope that answers the questions.  To me, writer’s block is different than simply getting “stuck.”  Since it has its roots in something more complex, simply taking a break won’t be enough to fix the problem.  It’s called “writer’s block,” not “writer’s stuck” for a reason, and being blocked is hell for a writer.  To answer the one remaining question, it’s only happened once to me.  I hope and pray it never happens again.

Have any of you been blocked?  How did you deal with it?  How do you deal with being stuck?  I’m sure we’d all enjoy hearing how you get back into sync with your Muse.