How to think about writer's block

The most cogent thing I ever learned about writer's block is that the block is serving you some purpose; it's trying to tell you something or teach you something, and that if you work with it, and participate with it, you will learn something about yourself. So, the question I will sometimes ask students is, what benefit are you getting from your writer's block? Stunned silence is the response, because no one ever thinks they're benefiting from something they consider a negative. 

But in fact, your block might be telling you that you're exhausted, or stretched beyond your ability, or that you need more time to work something through. It might be telling you you've found the wrong thing to work on, that maybe something else would appeal to you right now. Some writers overcome their blocks by putting down the piece they're working on and picking up something new. Others leave it alone completely, and let the piece rest for days or even years, until they get a new moment of inspiration.

The most important thing to remember about the block is that it provides you an opportunity for silence. Time to sit with the feelings of uncomfortableness, while nothing is coming to you, is necessary for growth. That's easy to say, and extremely hard to live with, though. No one feels good about writer's blocks. Another thing to keep in mind is that if you don't think of it as a "block," but as an opportunity, you take your inner focus off the endpoint, the goal, the outcome, which you're straining towards, and redirect your focus toward what is actually important, which is why you're writing the piece in the first place. 

When you rush toward an externally-motivated goal, you tend to be disappointed when the goal isn't reached, either at the pace you have assigned to it, or in the way you hope it will manifest. The writing block could be trying to tell you something very important about yourself; let it. Listen to what happens when you can't write. Don't anesthetize it. Don't deny it. Don't be like F. Scott Fitzgerald or Hemingway and go into a self-induced panic, compare your manhood to the amount of words you've gotten onto the page, and get out the gun. It's not worth it, and you create nothing but misery for yourself when you think like that. 

A worthwhile resource, the only one of the many writer's block books I used to have that I kept, is by Victoria Nelson (On Writer's Block). If you ever feel like you would like to understand what causes this feeling of being stuck, and would like to change how you think about it, this is a book I'd highly recommend. Another one is If You Can Talk, You Can Write, which can get anyone past any writer's block that isn't based on psychosis, I promise. 

Writing is Producing. Yes, I'm speaking as a Marxist.

When you buy a book, you are a consumer. When you write a book, you are a producer. How long has it been since writers thought of themselves as workers, do you think? Thought of themselves as workers first and foremost, that is. I often wonder how many consumers of the written word visualise writers/authors as existing on some kind of gossamer cloud, floating above us all, living up on Mount Olympus at the left hand of the gods, the nine Muses dancing around them. The reality is very different. 

Having said that, I realise I really should produce (that word again) statistics to back up the reality for writers, but I do know, off the top of my head, that fewer than 1% of published writers are making the kind of money that allows one to buy, let alone furnish, a gossamer cloud. Writing doesn't pay all that well, and the amount of labour that goes into the act of writing, when measured out in hours spent on the product, compared to how much the writer is usually paid, makes the act of writing a labour of love, trust me.

Marx was a writer, as well as being a philosopher. All philosophers post-Socrates were writers too. How they got published is another matter. So when you buy your next book, think about the process, and how expensive it is for the publisher to produce one of those bound wonders that continues to amaze me. I have a real reverence for the printed word. Okay, my first word was 'book,' according to my mother. I love books, but more than that, I respect the work that goes into them, and most of all, I respect the writer, who really does slog on against all odds to produce that final copy. 

And you know, Marxists would probably label me an elitist, since I do not exactly toil in the fields. That thought makes me sad, because it's not easy being a writer, I know, but it's also not exactly salt mining, now is it? So I have guilt for being a pseudo-Marxist, but I am one nonetheless.

Conditions I need if I'm going to be able to write

Every writer has a ritual they go through before they write. Some have been known to sharpen all their pencils, because there really are writers who prefer to write by hand; some have to get all their laundry done, or write in a public place, or go into their quiet cave. I think the process of how we come to the writing project is fascinating. The debris we need to clear out of the way to make the writing possible is not negligible. 

When I get started on an idea, I do like to write my initial thoughts, or lists, by hand, on paper. Only later does the idea get transfered to the computer. However, computers have made the whole process much easier, because there was a time when I used a typewriter, and more than once wanted to throw the stupid thing out the window, and would have, if hand-writing hadn't been so tedious.

Nowadays, I tend to need that kind of ultimate quiet you only get late at night. There is something about darkness, solitude, and the knowledge that there is no one out there who is likely to bother you, call you, email you (unless you have friends in a different time zone, that is) or in any way break into that bubble, that zone of thought that I need to create. This changes when I am deep in the middle of the work, or in that "flow" that makes it possible for me to ignore all outside distractions. But when the work is beginning, or is nascent, those distractions are really annoying, and tend to prevent me from getting any work done at all. 

But the most important thing I usually need to do before I can write is research. I am more of a researcher than I am a writer at times. Without research, I don't feel comfortable writing much of anything, I'm afraid. But then, I write historical fiction and academic-type stuff, so research is crucial for me. 

Creativity and Madness

There is a strong social bias or prejudice in favor of believing that genius comes along with some form of psychosis. Depression, anxiety, even mania, are frequently associated with creative ability. Writers have often done little to dispel this myth; even psychologists who specialise in understanding and explaining human behavior seem to have a vested interest in maintaining this belief.

A study done in the late 80s (and reinforced by later studies on a similar theme) interviewed and followed 30 participants who had all been published writers and taught writing for at least 15 years at University of Iowa's writing workshop. The study indicated that 80% of these writers had some kind of affective illness. Now, the catch with studies like this (and this one in particular) is that it was conducted by one person, and none of the "evidence" was corroborated by peers. In other words, the author of the study, a psychologist, might be said to have found what she was looking for. 

This is a problem for writers, this perception (reinforced by society, writers themselves, and the entire history of Western civilization going back to Plato, for crying out loud) that writing is a form of "madness," that creativity is a gift, a divine inspiration given to us "by the gods" (thanks, Plato) and that we who write (or do any kind of creative act, really) are of necessity better at it when we're looking for our muse at the bottom of the bottle, let's say, or in the arms of our best friend's wife, or some other such nonsense. Okay, yes, this is me being polemic today. But I do get tired of this stereotype, and I would like very much to get my book that attempts to demytholgise the writing process published, so that we can all start to chip away at this misperception of writers and writing.

And if those poet-types will stop drinking absinthe and taking laudanum, or snorting coke, or downing yet another bottle of Johnny Walker Black label, it would help my cause. ;-)

Flow

Okay, bear with me. This post has got some ridiculously long words, like: Mihaly Czikszentmihalyi, which I have a hard time spelling, let alone pronouncing. However, he wrote a marvelous book about how creative flow works; it's called, very simply, in contradistinction to his name, Flow: The Psychology of Optimal Experience (Harper Perennial 1990), and I hope you read it. It's significantly easier to get through than you might think. 

The core of his argument lies in this concept: that the "key element of an optimal experience is that it is an end in itself. Even if initially undertaken for other reasons, the activity that consumes us becomes intrinsically rewarding" (67). A "self-contained activity, one that is done not with the expectation of some future benefit, but simply because the doing itself is the reward," is key to what Czikszentmihalyi refers to as an "autotelic" experience, meaning, a self-motivated goal or activity. Even the most painful or difficult experiences, he argues, can become rewarding if the person sticks with it long enough to have that proverbial lightbulb go on. 

That means that if you're not enjoying something actively, but you stick with it, the chances are much better that you will have that moment of inspiration or breakthrough that leads to the next place in your understanding, ability, or talent with something. The preparation is all. The amount of work, conscious or unconscious, that you put into something (like writing, obviously) can lead to greater insight and skill. 

One of the things that makes sense is that writers must be readers, must immerse themselves in the printed, written, and spoken word. To enjoy writing... for it to flow for you, might not happen overnight. I doubt it happens for very many writers. It isn't enough (in my experience, working with published writers as their editor) to get accolades, money, and fame, from your writing. 

To love to write... this is part of the process, and it might not be obtainable. But if you read Csikszentmihalyi, you will get a better idea of how it's possible.

Writing Resources

The time has come, the walrus said, for the teacher side of me to emerge. Today's suggested writing how-to is by William Zinsser (On Writing Well: The Classic Guide to Writing Nonfiction, reprinted over and over again, is now in its 30th anniversary edition, 336 pp., and is published by Collins). This book has been around forever, and its author is refreshingly honest and does not mince words about how difficult writing can be. However, he also offers straightforward writing advice, and is one of the basics I put on any bibliography or list of books I recommend to students. 

Another inspirational book is by Barbara Ueland, and is one of my favorites: If You Want to Write: A Book About Art, Independence, and Spirit, brief at 164 pages, published by bnpublishing (their lower-case, not mine). This was written originally way back in 1938, but nothing that has been written more recently adequately addresses the fears writers face, the inadequacies, all the uphill slog that most writers must battle with before they can ever get a word written. This book in particular is where I would suggest all writers begin, or read if they ever feel low, depressed, or stuck.  (The Artist's Way by Julia Cameron is another one that is very helpful about gently guiding you toward creation, but Cameron owes a lot to Ueland.)

Books written by writers are too often self-serving, but I found Stephen King's (On Writing, reprinted 2002, Pocket Books), really helpful, surprisingly so, since he's a horror writer. His knowledge of overall writing principles is very wise, and he is entertaining but sincere in his approach and tone of voice. 

All writing is collaborative

Here's why: even though I write alone at this moment, I share ideas with other writers. Other writers give me inspiration. I also could not write without outside influences affecting me, such as music, paintings, museums, films, screenplays... anything someone else has created affects me, makes me think, inspires me.  It's one thing to have the impetus and will to begin a project; but it's the inspiration derived from collaboration that keeps it going.

I used to think that Descartes was the one writer who created alone in his garret, but it turns out I was wrong about that. It seems that he actually belonged to a collaborative group, as do almost all writers. He met with his friends at coffee houses, prevalent in the Netherlands, where Descartes spent much of his life. It was during those mostly friendly, but often argumentative, meetings that he worked out many of his theories. 

There are innumerable examples of writers throughout the ages relying on one another for inspiration. Inspiration is the problem for writers and creative types, not isolation. Well, isolation is one problem, but it's illusory. Writers never have to work alone; they do need to reach out to one another, however. 

Think of the Bloomsbury Group in London (inhabited variously by Virginia Woolf, Leonard Woolf, E.M. Forster, and others) , the Inklings, which included C.S. Lewis and J.R.R. Tolkien, in Oxford, and the informal literary group formed by expatriates Hemingway, Fitzgerald, and Gertrude Stein in Paris. These writers came together because they needed to talk to one another, to feel connected, to create new ideas. They stole from one another, and often got into arguments about plagiarism, but plagiarism, for writers, is the fine line between inspiration and innovation. It can be virtually impossible to know for sure who created what, when you work in collaboration. This can be a real problem, but that's for another post.

Limitations

It's important to write every day, but is it realistic? I don't have coherent thoughts on plot development every day. I have had this problem all along, ever since I started writing long pieces of fiction. This is a standard I don't think I could live up to unless or until I ever get a real contract and know that I have someone who expects to see the writing show up on their desk at a certain time. Until then, I find it too easy to slack off. 

Now, that doesn't mean I'm not working; but realistically, I need time to think my plot developments and character developments through. I can't just sit down and write it all in a continuous flow. It is crap writing when I've tried to do that. I know that many writers insist on writing every day, but then do they actually like what they write? I hate wasting my energy on writing I know is bad, because it's not connected to anything, it's just writing for the sake of writing. I need time to let my thoughts percolate and develop.

Starting a writers' group

I am in the process of beginning a writers' "support" group--I don't like to use the word 'support', because it sounds like psychological counseling, but in fact, writers do need support, since it's so damned hard to do this on your own. That's one of the reasons I consider writing to be a collaborative art, because no one ever writes completely alone, isolated from outside resources. But too often, we write without other people taking an active role in our writing, as though that were the way it was supposed to be, but if you've read my earlier posts, you know I don't believe that's true or necessary. 

Now, every time I've been a member of a writer's group, my experience has been that the process compels one to keep writing, if only because the people who show up each week bring their own stuff and you end up feeling a sense of responsibility to make sure you have something for them to look at. Also, there's just the motivation. It's so much easier to keep going if you've got others who give a damn that you're making progress.

Critiquing is a fine art, however. It's a minefield to navigate, because these are strangers, and you don't want to say the wrong thing. It's also not necessary to critique like some kind of literary critic, which would be insulting and pedantic. The goal of critiquing, it seems to me, ought to be to provide honest (and/but) constructive ideas to help the writing along, not to slash anyone to pieces. I've seen both approaches, and these critiques that destroy the writer's confidence are just silly. There's no need for that. Writing is hard enough; you need support, not detractors. 

I've got two people signed up so far; let's see if we get any more. This should be interesting. It looks like we'll meet at Elliot Bay Book Company, probably on weekends. Writers' groups can be very helpful to keep one motivated, so I hope this works out.

What we have been taught to believe about writing

Do you believe a writer is born, not made? If so, you're not alone, because it's what we've been taught to think about writing. There is a long history of inherited beliefs we received through the Romantics, even the Modernists, that can be traced back to the Golden Age of Greece (specifically Plato's era, although we are not blaming Plato for this belief, although he was certainly one of the main proponents of the idea that skill with words was a god-given gift).

This idea doesn't square too well with postmodern beliefs, which have challenged these kinds of notions, specifically by asking where does transpersonal agency fit into this model... in other words, how is the writer, a participant in the world, situated in all of this? Is s/he possessed by a fiery muse, as Shakespeare would have us believe, or is the solitary writer fully responsible for all his/her words, as the Modernists wanted us to believe? My personal opinion, after years of research and study, is that we have innate talents that are encouraged by the world outside of us, or they are not. Writing is necessarily collaborative, neither determined by a muse nor by a solitary man, laboring alone in his garret--a notion the Modernists rather fervently clung to as they idealised individual agency. 

When you think about the world outside of you, there will be a few people you will have to impress with your writing skills before you can be taken seriously. What is important to determine is (and this is where postmodern theory comes into it) who determines what is considered "good" writing? You'll discover, if you think about it, that how "good" writing is judged changes. Some years, "good" writing is succinct, some years it's more flowery or romantic... the point is, that there is a group of people who decides what good writing looks like, and that group becomes the latest power base to determine who gets awards, gets published, becomes acclaimed, etc. 

The question then becomes (and again, this is a postmodernist issue), how do the people who make these decisions (teachers, editors, publishers) become authority figures? How is it that if there is a standard for good writing, it does not seem to exist a priori, now does it? It keeps changing. That means that what we consider "good" writing is based on our values, as a society and personally, and if what we consider "good" writing can change as our values change, then there is no such thing as a priori "good" writing. 

Which means that it matters terribly whether our innate talents are squelched or encouraged, and I can guarantee you that your innate talents and interest in writing will mostly be encouraged if you write in a way that is in accord with what others consider "good" writing. Do you see the power imbalance here? Writing then becomes inherently political, if there is always someone with power over us who must be convinced before we will be taken seriously, listened to, have our voice heard. Writing is not a democratic act, and, I would argue, is least democratic, ironically, in that bastion of egalitarianism, the university.

Believing in one's writing

This has proved to be the hardest part; this belief in one's self as a writer. I once started a journal with: "I don't know what to write." The rest of the journal remained blank. I don't journal well. 

I fight with myself as a writer every single day. I reject this self-imposed isolation. I hate it. I don't want to do it. I don't know how not to.

It doesn't help that my insecurities are fueled by difficulties getting published. Every time I receive a rejection, it sets me back, and I have to begin all over again, Sisyphus rolling this rock back up the hill. I am getting older, waiting to get that rock up that hill.