Ready, Set, Write II

Running On Empty

So you’re there, like a good little girl – unless you’re a boy – in front of the keyboard, trying to write.  And nothing comes.  And you feel like you’re running on empty.  There is nothing there.  You can’t pull from a well that has no water.  (Yes, I’m getting all metaphysical.  Deal.)

There are several ways to deal with this.

First, our bodies, and believe it or not, your brain is part of your body, are things of habit.  If you do the same thing at a certain hour every day, your body gets used to it.  Like, for instance, for years I believed one had to drink a glass of water first thing in the morning to “wake the system.”  I eventually broke the habit, because (mostly) when I was pregnant with the second boy drinking water on an empty stomach brought on heart burn from beyond.  But it didn’t feel RIGHT for months, to go without that glass of water.

And when I wrote short stories every Saturday morning, I found I woke up on Saturday with an idea and a need to write that story.  (This was a right b*tch at cons or on vacation.  Ask my husband how many times I carried around a pen and note pad while we followed the kids around the amusement park.)

Have a time and a place where you sit down to write and MARK YOU that you do nothing but write in that time and place.  You might edit old stuff if you’re completely out of it – but it’s actually better if you write new stuff, even if you know it’s screamingly bad.  And some of it will be bad.

Right now part of the problem I’m having is that I also edit AND write blogs at my desk.  This makes my mind confused about what I’m supposed to be doing.   What I’d like to do is get another desk and computer for those other tasks, but I’m afraid my husband will kill me when I tell him that (well, I already have TWO art computers and workspaces, and this desk.  Oh, yeah, also my travel laptop.  Which I actually could TOTALLY use for the editing and blog.  So… I need a new desk.  Um…  He’s gonna shoot me.)

If you play games or do anything else with your computer, including email, do it elsewhere.  Save a place JUST to write in.  A lot of the writers famed for speed, like Rex Stout, had their typewriter in some shed where they only went to write – and where they wrote like demons.

Then make it an habit.  Every morning, get up and write.  (Or evening.  Or whenever you have.  Look, you can write a thousand words in two hours.  If all you have is two hours in the evening, you can still write 356 thousand words a year, which is, for sane people, three novels.)  It can only be say three days a week, just do it regularly.

But habit is only part of it.  There will be times you just have no idea what to write.  Well, work through that before you sit down.  Look up three words to inspire a story.  Or take a proverb and twist it.  Or take a what if “What if vampires existed but they were really small?  Like palm sized?”  Or… whatever.

It doesn’t matter how good your story is.  Don’t wait for the perfect story.  Write a story now, you can always write a better one tomorrow.  Or the day after.  And since this is a matter of practice, your stories will get better.

Give yourself permission to suck rotten eggs.  By which I don’t mean JUST your idea, but your writing too.  Yeah, so you’re repeating the word “just” every three words.  You know what, that’s what editing is for.  Get the idea out, get the words out, get the story out.  The words you can deal with later.  As much as this might shock people, facility with words is only a part of what makes people successful as writers, and not the most important part.  If you can find Hamilton’s early, very poorly edited Anita Blake novels, read them and tell me how much of a word-mastery went into them.  And yet, she’s a bestseller, and I know people tossing beautiful, perfect poetic words on the page who can’t sell.

If you are a word-person, take care of the words later.  For now write.  Write even if you think your character is a perfect idiot.  JUST write.  Get your mind and brain used to it.

But sometimes you’re REALLY empty.  As in, there is nothing there.  The very idea of writing HURTS.

Well, I can’t throw stones.  I’ve been there.  If you’re really tired, take a break.  If you haven’t read a book in a while – which is one of the things that makes me run on empty – give yourself permission to take a day off and read.  Go for a walk.  Play with your kids.  Throw a frisbie for the dog.  Watch a movie.  Cook an elaborate meal.

Give yourself a day off, as you would if you SIMPLY couldn’t function at work.  But as with work remember you HAVE to come back the next day.  No work-y, no pay-y.  Even if you’re not being paid yet, that’s your goal, right?  Don’t let THAT turn into an habit.  Come back and work, at the right hour the next day.  Tell yourself you had a day off, now you’re back, and work.  And give yourself permission to suck.

Things I’ve found help: If writing shorts, have a list of titles pinned to a corkboard nearby – or a bunch of whatever sparks stories for you.  Sometimes, for me, it’s a picture.  If writing a novel, have a couple of paragraphs on where the novel is going next if you’re a semi-pantser, or a list of questions raised by the novel so far, if a full pantser.  If you’re a plotter, keep your plot on the corkboard or the computer screen.

Give yourself breaks.  I’ve found I work best when I write two hours then take a half-an-hour break, for coffee, to put wash in, to pet the cats or whatever.

Reward yourself.  For many years you’re not going to be paid or at least, if you go indie, you’ll be paid very slowly.  My reward is that I buy myself a glass float per book I write.  They’re pretty, I like them, and I have a bunch of them hanging from the ceiling.  They’re also on average $40 and I’d never buy them except as a reward.  (My betas for A Few Good Men will appreciate the fact that the float I ordered for it was supposed to be red and was made from the ash from the eruption of mount St. Helen’s – which seemed appropriate – but when it arrived, it was a deep, dark pink.  I decided to keep it.)  Other writers buy mugs (Where would I put them all?) music they like, or charms for a charm bracelet.  Something you like and which is significant to you, and which you can buy tons of before you have to move to a new house.

Also, when you finish a novel or a number of stories, reward yourself in a way your body – as well as your mind – will get.  My way is to go to Denver for a day and go to a diner for dinner.  Yours can be going for a bike ride around the neighborhood, or taking a day off to go hiking, or even taking a day off to sit in your favorite coffeeshop with a book.

Allow yourself a day or two of this.  And then, come back, at the right time to the right place.

And work.

Next up: But It’s Impossible To Write Fast.