The First Wall

After I had been writing consistently, daily, for a couple of months, I hit a wall. I sat down in my usual chair…which was at Starbucks…and nothing happened. And I didn’t know what to do.

Actually, it wasn’t nothing that happened. “Nothing” would be writer’s block, I guess, and it wasn’t that. I assume that must be horrible, though I haven’t had it happen to me. What happened to me was that, over a period of a few days, I had been getting less and less confident about what I was writing. It was partly about not being able to gauge the quality of it, and that is something I would imagine most writers have to go through for a long time in their own careers, possibly without ever ending. I don’t even know if that’s solvable, although the solution to my own problem seems likely to help in this area as well.

In this case it was more about not being able to know whether the pieces I was writing would fit the final picture. I would write a scene and not know whether it would add or detract from the book. I would contemplate another section and wonder whether I should write it or hold off. I despaired of being able to consistently achieve any kind of emotional resonance, or to make sure the final product would feel complete but not bloated. And so, bogged down in these concerns, I started grinding to a halt.

At first I thought I could just bull through, and I did for a few days. Writing every day is rule #1, and I was doing it. But it became clear that there was a wall in front of me, and I wouldn’t get past it without doing something new and different.

I gave myself a hiatus from writing every day, for a couple of days at least, basically because I had no choice. I decided to try something. I would fire up the Kindle and go back to reread some of the books I have liked in the past, books where the stories built up empathy and excitement to a crescendo and left me feeling like I’d been on an emotional journey.

I happened to read some Jim Butcher books in this case, because I like them, and they’re quick, and they’re modern. There are a lot of other books that some would say have more staying power, classics like Dune and Shogun, that I love for the long term, but those take days to read, and I wasn’t in the mood. I think some of the Dresden Files books, and the very well-planned and executed Codex Alera, are good examples of modern dramatic fiction with relatable characters and excellent emotion management, if that makes sense.

I thought that I could read books like these for inspiration and try to analyze what worked about them. But instead, all it achieved for me was a kick when I was down. I am not the type of person who can analyze a movie while watching it, and predict what’ll happen next to annoy whoever’s with me. Reading the books was enjoyable but not educational, and I despaired of being able to accomplish the same kinds of things. And I was drifting.

But quitting was never an option. It never really is, not until you’re in the ground or  at least physically can’t make yourself take another step. And so I cast about for another answer.

And in the spirit of short blog entries, we’ll get to that next time.