WRITER’S DROUGHT

 

I don’t get “writer’s block,” which in my not humble enough opinion is clinical depression as manifested in a writer. But I do have chapters of what I call “writer’s drought.”

 

Writer’s drought is when the sentences don’t flow. When the sentences are halting, the paragraphs come to a crawl, and the pages barely move. The joy of being “in the zone” is nowhere to be found.

 

What to do? I can only speak of what I do.

 

The first thing I do is believe. This will pass, and soon. That’s crucial.

And so, it does. Always. Faith is not just for the supranatural or accepting the word of God.

 

The second thing I do is look around and find a device. A device, in this case, is something that will intrigue and restart the flow of questions. It can be an object or a photograph. It can be a sentence. Once the questions begin to trickle in, the writing does as well.

 

Because, at the core, stories are asking and then answering questions.

On the plot level, the question is, “what’s next?”  

On the character’s arc, the question is, “Who or what is driving you?”

On the theme, the question is, “Why?”

 

A good device bubbles up questions. The questions are like dew drops, covering the parched surface of the writer’s drought’s shell. Before long, it’s raining.

DEADLINES SET BY OTHERS

 

One of the pitfalls of staying in school for many years is the dependence on deadlines set by others.

 

What, you might be saying, is wrong with that? It’s a preparation for work life in general and makes John and Jill good boys and girls. Right?

 

But here’s my take. It also creates a dependence on others to get things done.

I know writers who sign up for writing challenges and join groups that insist on certain timed output. I know musicians who need competitions to get them going on learning new repertoire and practice . I know painters who need a set exhibit date to complete a set number of new works, etc.

 

Without this external pacing, many people just fall apart and lose the map. The trail becomes blurry and a sense of being lost takes over only to deepen unless they latch on to yet another organizer who gives them deadlines once again.

 

I have come to see it differently. It took reaching my late twenties before I got that monkey off my back. I learned what pace works for me and why only this way of working sets me free.

 

Sure, I meet deadlines all the time. But I don’t need them to create.

 

You won’t find me anywhere near NaNoWriMo or the 12 by12 challenge and their ilk. Maybe because I didn’t stay in school as long as many I know, I don’t need this sort of assigned homework. Life tells me when I’m needed, and I tell my days what I need from them in return.