We’re well into autumn here, and the fire is crackling over
at our place almost every night. It’s
getting cold, working outside in the study, but I don’t mind – I’m really
picking up speed with this new book, and everything seems golden.
But it isn’t always like that. I was kind of inspired to write this post
after reading another writer’s question recently, asking ‘what’s your hump
point?’, and also because I’ve read a few articles lately about writer’s
block. To my mind, the two things are
linked (and remember, folks, this is just my
mind we’re talking about here –those of you who know me, you’ll recall that
my mind is sometimes an odd and contrary place to be. I just don’t want to generalise here about All
Writers, cos, hey, for a few golden years there my kids thought I was some kind
of super-being, but I ain’t that
super).
First, the author’s question about ‘hump points’ might need
some clarification. The author was
asking what’s the hardest point in your writing process with a book – do you
struggle with beginnings? Or maybe it’s
middles or endings which you find hard.
Or is the whole thing just a slog from start to finish, like pulling
teeth? How do you combat that?
Writer’s block is a regular topic of conversation in the
writing community – in fact, if you Googled ‘overcoming writer’s block’ you’d
probably get thousands of hits for articles and queries about it. I have a peculiar relationship with writer’s
block, which is that I don’t really believe in it. It’s not that I don’t think writers get
blocked – I know they do, and I’ve experienced blockage myself – but I don’t
call my periods of drought ‘writer’s block’, because to me that sounds like
some sort of inescapable disease, and I don’t want to label it like that
because I think that gives it power.
This post isn't really about writers block, but I do struggle with hump points in a manuscript draft. I had one with Every Move, and I just got through one with the new book, so I may
as well throw in my fifty cents worth on the subject (actually fifty cents
sounds expensive – let’s just call it two cents).
So here’s the situation: you’re drafting a new project, and
it’s all flowing well. You’re excited,
cos it’s new, and you’ve got lots of initial ideas, and the writing is really
moving. A few weeks in, and it’s all
looking good. Then one day, you wake up
and pull out your pen and paper/keyboard/charcoal and crayons, and you look at
it there, and…you’re drawing a blank.
Your ideas are kind of turning around in circles chasing their
tails. You don’t know what’s gonna
happen in the next scene, or the writing feels flavourless and dull. Everything feels foggy, and suddenly you’re
just hitting keys (in my case) hoping and praying that your mojo will return.
You’ve hit your hump point.
For some people, it comes early in the process – getting the
crank started is really really hard. For
others (and I think this might be more common), you hit a point at about the
middle of the book, when everything you’re writing seems like crap, and you
can’t figure out what to do next. For
yet others, it’s tying everything together at the end – oh my god, you’ve
written yourself into a corner, now how the hell do you get out of it?
Other (way better and more experienced) writers have shared
their wisdom on this issue, so let me summarise their suggestions: take some
exercise, get some sleep, take a break and interact with friends and family
(remember them?), get some fresh input (films, tv, music, art, nature, other
people’s books), make sure your health is ok, try to reduce or wait out
external stress, put the manuscript away for a week or more and go back to it
for better perspective, go back to a point where the writing was flowing and
see if you made the characters do something OOC, stop writing and do some
plotting-out, or even stop writing and let the characters live in your head for
a bit to find out where they want to
go, change your work routine, do some research, work on something else for a
while… There are plenty of potential
solutions. Some authors I know have even
opted to scrap the entire draft and write it again from scratch (*cue wailing
and gnashing of teeth*), or put it aside and resolve that this manuscript is
not yet sufficiently ‘baked’ in their head for them to complete it (again,
weeping, but for some folks, they have a sense that this is the right course of
action).
My own attitude is a bit of an amalgam of all these things
(and yes, I have dumped a project at the 40,000 word point – never a whole
book, though, that’s gutsy). It’s also
complicated by the fact that each book is different, and often your process
varies (I like to say ‘matures’, heh) every time. Which, as Lili Wilkinson once pointed out, is what it should
be – feeling locked into a certain way of doing things, a certain way of
working, can make your life kinda difficult if the project requires a change of
attitude or approach.
With Every Move, I
was on deadline, so I was under external pressure. I’d also written a crazy-arse number of plot
threads that needed tying up, and I felt overwhelmed. That required some pleading with my editors
(actually not too much pleading, cos they’re awesome like that) for a little
more time, and some plain old sitting down and mapping out what had to happen
(see ‘plotting-out’, above). But my
struggle with that manuscript was really about making a personal realisation: I
didn’t want the story to end. I loved
the world, I loved the characters, and I was having a hard time letting
go. It wasn’t until another author
friend (thanks again, Simmone!) kindly pointed this out to me that I had a
little lightbulb moment, and after that, tackling the ending of the book was
considerably easier.
With this new book, No
Limits (working title), it was different.
I got stuck about a third of the way in.
But it felt familiar, and I realised that it was a bit like the way I’d
felt when I was writing my first book, Every
Breath. That’s when I figured out
something. Again, this is a personal
experience, so it won’t apply to everybody, but what I figured out was this:
By the time I’ve written about a third of the book, I feel a
great reluctance to go on. I can’t sit
in front of my screen for more than a few minutes at a time without wanting to
just jump up and do something else.
Turning on the internet to get on social media seems hugely attractive – in fact, doing the
washing or sweeping the house seem hugely attractive at this point. Or reading a book. Or watching tv. Anything but sitting down in front of that
goddamn manuscript. I’m not doing any
work, but I’m thinking about the manuscript all
the frickin’ time. I get a
horrendous amount of doubt – doubt about the characters I’ve made, doubt about
the plot I’ve set up, doubt in my own ability to pull it off. I become a tetchy, dissatisfied, all-round
horrible person to live with, and then I feel guilty that my family has to put
up with me (sorry, honey!).
This is usually what writers mean when they say they’re
stuck – they’ve hit the wall (in running terminology), and every word they put
down at this point starts to sound terrible.
It’s like getting a cramp. And
because writers live in their heads so much, getting a brain cramp is really
painful and frustrating (and sometimes, cos writers can be a bit insecure like
that and doubt+insecurity is a bad combo, it can be really debilitating).
So here I am at my hump point. I’ve invented all these threads, created this
whole world with the characters, y’know?
But I’m stuck. I do as many of
the things on the ‘writer’s block solution list’ as I can – I talk to people, I
get more sleep, I watch tv and read books, get some exercise, do research, yada
yada – and some of them even help a little.
Although I’m still assailed by this awful feeling like I’m teetering on
the precipice.
But that, I figured out, is a good thing. It means that
I’m coming to terms, within myself, with the idea of completing this thing I
started.
My tetchiness and dissatisfaction have a genuine cause - I’m
about to fall over the edge, into the unknown.
I’m scared. I’m working without a
safety net. Anything could happen. I could fail.
I could write a really sucky book.
I don’t know if I’ve got the goods to make it work. I don’t know if I’ve got anything meaningful
to say, that people will want to listen to.
I’m at a crossroads moment.
I said I spend a lot of time with my characters inside my
head at this point – that is actually really necessary. I’m fleshing out
their existence as people, and I’m churning over alternative ideas about what
will happen. I’m rolling it all over in
my head. Although I often scribble down
notes in an exercise book when these points hit me, it’s a very mental process. And it’s a kind of ‘dragging up your courage’
moment. I have to come around to the
idea that I’m capable.
So finally, after I’ve tetched and churned and agsted about as
much as I can stand (which is about the time my family wants me to leave home
and go live in a monastery or something), I finally throw up my hands (y’know, my
mental hands) and say, okay, bring it on.
Do I really want to write this book? Um, actually – yes. Yes, I really do.
So now I’ve done it.
After this point, I’m committed.
I’ve got to go on, I’ve got to see it through to the end, no
matter how difficult or frustrating or nerve-wracking it might be, or how
doubtful I might feel about my own ability to make this story work. Soon after that, most commonly, I’ll sit down
with the manuscript and…it’s back. I’m
back. The system has rebooted, my mojo
has returned, the flame is burning again.
Interestingly enough, after I get past this point of decision, this
point of mental commitment, I’m utterly invested – the ideas are coming again,
and fast. I’m eager to get back to the
writing, I can’t wait to be in front of the keyboard. I’m impatient for writing days to come round
(which leads to its own brand of tetchiness, when I’m denied writing time by
Real Life, but that’s another story).
This is the time when – like I did with my first novel – I actually jump
out of bed at some ridiculous sparrow-fart time of the morning, feeling excited, because I’m getting the chance
to dive back into it.
So to me – and excuse me if it sounds like I’m thrilled
about re-inventing the wheel here, but personally, this was a recent revelation
– it’s about making the mental commitment to continue with the work. That’s my hump point. And now I know, I can give myself a swift
kick when it comes around again (or at least, y’know, not stress out so much
about it) and remember that it’s normal.
What got me through, on this occasion, was a quote from multi-award
winning, multi-book writing romance author Valerie Parv, in response to the
question “How do you know when you start
writing that you can do it?”.
Her reply? “The answer is that you start writing to
find out if you can do it.”
I hope your own writing is going well. I hope you haven’t hit the wall, or gotten
stuck, or blocked, or arrived at a hump point.
But if you have, I hope this helps, somehow.
And I guess that’s my two cents on the matter.
Xx Ellie
PS – you know how I had a massive giveaway here on the blog
for the Every Move release? Well, I had
it, and it’s over, and there was only one problem – one of the winners didn’t
get in touch with me. And it’s been,
like, two weeks now, and I really want to send this parcel to somebody!
If you are Elizabeth Gordon, can you please contact me in
the next 48 hours?
If you’re not, and you entered, you’re still in the
running. If Elizabeth doesn’t get in
touch, then I’m gonna have a re-draw from the existing pool of entrants (I
still know who you are, so don’t stress).
I’ll pick a new winner, let people know on Facebook, Twitter and
Instagram. If I don’t hear from the new
winner within 48 hours, I’ll choose a new name, and so on, until we get this
parcel won!
That’s it. Have a
good week :)
Xe
