The Ninth Circle of Writer's Hell

Do you ever have one of those days when you sit at your computer, staring at the blank 'Compose' page on Blogger (or WordPress or whatever your bloggy poison of choice may be), and think, "I am boring. I am a boring, boring person. My life is boring; my thoughts are boring; my clothes are boring; I am bored just writing this?" Or, if you prefer slightly more straightforward language, do you sit and think, "WHAT ON GOD'S GREEN EARTH AM I GOING TO WRITE ABOUT TODAY?"

I know you'll be shocked to learn that I feel that way right now.

I think there's nothing like the panic that overcomes a writer when we cannot think of anything to write. It is all-encompassing, it is pervasive, it creeps into every vein and every nerve until our palms are sweating and our hair is falling out and our bodies are vibrating with anxiety, and we would give our left arms (or legs or souls or lives or firstborn sons) for just ONE good, or even mildly mediocre, idea. It is, I believe, the ninth circle of a writer's hell, and it is the place we will all go to when we die without EVER WRITING ANYTHING.

Does this sound melodramatic?

GOOD. Because it is. It feels that melodramatic. Which is why I'm using so many italics and CAPITALS.

How can I be a writer, we think, if I can't come up with anything to WRITE? My very identity is being called question! My very soul! The very fiber of my being!! WHO AM I IF I DO NOT WRITE???

(As a side-note, this should be fairly obvious, but let me add that this extreme, panic-stricken melodrama does not help the situation. In no way is it useful, or even inspiring. It's rather more like asking for directions and then putting on a giant pair of noise cancelling headphones while someone is trying to give them to you, and getting anxious and angry because you can't hear what the person is saying, and telling them sternly to just SPEAK UP, for God's sake.)

And then of course, we realize that the answer to that question - WHO AM I IF I DO NOT WRITE, that is, in case you lost track of the thread of this post like I did - is that we are no one. Which then sends us into an unending spiral of depression and more anxiety.

Surprisingly, this also does not lead to any actual writing.

You know what does? Writing. Yes yes, I know, it's a catch 22. We have nothing to write about so we don't write, but the only way to start writing is to write, but we don't have anything to write about so we don't write, but the only way to start writing is to write...

Fun as that endless circling logic is, I hope you'll pardon me if I step away from it for a bit, and point out that I just spent an entire blog post writing about not writing. So, there it is: I can write, after all. 

Yup, there is a point to this post. Who would've thought?

I know it might sound ridiculous, or useless, but this truly is the only way I've ever found to break that panic, unblock the blockage, and escape from the ninth circle of writer's hell: write. It doesn't matter what I write about. More often than not, I write about how I can't write. It feels impossible, so I write about that, too. I give myself free license, and I do NOT edit, ever. I bitch and moan and whine to myself, I indulge every ounce of my own melodrama, and then, somewhere around page ten of my insane ramblings, it stops. The complaining turns into brainstorming; the panic turns into curiosity. 'What if I write about the ninth circle of hell', I think? What if I write about that time I did a swan dive on the streets of Manhattan, or the time I sat in the passenger's seat in a car in Ireland and became convinced I was going to die because I didn't have a brake on my side - or a steering wheel?

So I write about those things. Or I write some more about not writing. Either way, I am writing, and that is the entire point.

Plus, it's really sort of fun when you get to post about not having anything to post about...

On Break

I'm taking a brief break from blogging this week to get some actual work done on my work-in-progress, which for the past two months or so has mostly been an on-hold-work-in-progress. I'll be back for IWSG next week with some tips on public speaking, and will visit everyone next week as well :) If I don't come see you this week, I apologize in advance, and I promise I'll catch you in June!

In the meantime, I leave you with this recommendation:

Read Ann Pachett's collection of essays called This is the Story of a Happy Marriage (the link goes to her indie bookstore's website, where you can buy the book and have it shipped right to you). She's a marvelous writer, but that's not news; what caught me, and held me delightedly captive, was the insight into her life as a writer: her journey, her process, the way she built her career, the ways she supported herself before her fiction took off. I'm a very different person from a very different background, but so many elements of her story struck a chord in me. It was validating, inspiring, hilarious, and hopeful to see my struggles reflected in her words.

OK, I'm heading off to write now. Have a lovely week, and I'll see you next Wednesday!

How I Found The Write Path

Blogger Carrie Butler had a genius idea to host a blogfest about authors' writing journeys, to give us all a chance to tell our younger selves all of the things we wished we'd known when we started writing towards publication. Everyone is going to write a letter to those younger selves, and dish out the advice, warnings, and encouragement we've now learned the hard way. Together with co-host PK Hrezo, Carrie will compile these blog posts into a free e-book, so that newer writers can learn these things the easier way. Thanks, Carrie and PK!

Dear Hopeful Writer,

There are so many things I want to tell you.

They range from the practical - don't get too attached to that expensive new handbag, it's just going to fall apart in the middle of a Boston subway station during rush hour, six months after you bought it (and yes, you'll survive the humiliation and the hordes of irritated onlookers, but you'll never find the sunglasses that fell out) - to the vital - when you're wondering if it's worth going out of your way to do something that will make your partner's life fuller or happier or easier: yes, the answer is always, always yes.

But I'm supposed to concentrate on writing, and I know that's the thing you dearly want to hear about, so I'll do my best to stay on topic.

You're a study in contradictions, now, so full of hope and fear. That's perfect, believe it or not, because you're going to need the good and the hard to survive. Here's what I've learned, six years down the line (in outline form, of course):

1. You are simultaneously better than you fear you are, and not nearly as good as you hope to be. So believe in yourself, and while you're at it, go to those writing classes you've been wondering about. Go to more than you can afford, and more than you think you need. Even if the class isn't good (which is rare), you’ll always take away at least one lesson, one gem of wisdom or craft that will inspire and aid you, and often you’ll take away many more.
2. Hold on to that belief in yourself, that precious conviction that you'll succeed. You're going to need it when you:
3. Learn as much about the industry as possible. The information will be depressing at best and terrifying at worst, but don't shy away from it; you need to know it. Yes, all of it: the gloom and doom, the predictions about the end of art and culture, the harsh truths of how much (or little) authors make.
4. Now that you've faced reality, remember that belief in yourself. Pick it up off of the ground where it fell in despair, dust it off, and hold it close. You'll find that it's stronger now, and one day, it will be able to pick you up when you fall, and carry you. 
5. And you'll need that, because the rejections will roll in, great bruising waves of them, and you're going to have to figure out how to get back up when they bowl you over, and keep writing, anyway.
6. Keep writing. Even when it's impossible, even when it's killing you, it will always be your greatest joy and best hope. 
7. Be patient. No, I really mean this. Be patient. You've learned from your research that the publishing industry moves at a snail's pace – and that’s on good days - so there's nothing to be gained, and much to be lost, from rushing.
8. No, your manuscript isn't finished yet, no matter how anxious you are to start querying. See #7 above.
9. Listen to your gut. Your CPs and beta readers will be invaluable, and will help you more than you can imagine, but when they're done and you're sitting with a "finished" draft, only you will know if it's truly finished. 
10. No, your manuscript isn't finished yet, no matter how encouraging your readers are. See #s 7 and 8 above.
11. Be kind to yourself. You're going to make many mistakes as you learn, and being angry with yourself for making them is going to accomplish exactly nothing. So stop it. Cultivate compassion for yourself instead.
12. Take all of that extra energy you have now that you're not wasting it on criticizing yourself, and use it to be vigilant and unrelenting about protecting your writing time. No one - not even the people you love the most, and often especially not them - is going to do it for you.
13. Yes, your manuscript wasn't finished when you started sending it out. That's OK. See #11 above, then learn from it and move on.
14. Other writers are not competition; they're community. They're honest and generous and talented, and building relationships with them will only help you. You'll have people to talk to who understand you, and even without the other benefits - skilled critiques, enthusiastic support, hard-won wisdom and advice - that alone is worth its weight in gold. 

I'm running over my word limit (yes, you'll continue to overwrite; just resign yourself to a lifetime of editing), so I'll leave you with my unending support, and a true belief that you’ll succeed. I believe in you, and that's saying something.

- Liz Blocker
lizblocker.blogspot.com

I give permission for my entry to be included in the e-book compilation without royalties and/or separate compensation.