Writing Yourself Up and Over That Wall

I am no expert on writing, but I have climbed a couple of rungs on the ladder which surprisingly puts me in a position to help others. I do this gladly. If you haven’t discovered by now, the writing community is like none other in its support for its members.

Aspiring authors often talk about the frustration they feel from their inability to complete a story. Many people begin writing only to abandon their ideas when they reach a dead end or don’t see where their story is leading. I’m often amazed that regardless of whether my books are good or not, people hold me in high esteem for the simple fact that I have finished and published four books. That is a goal many wish to realize.

This is my advice to you. Keep writing. Face the wall and if you can’t get over it, do what you would do in real life; turn and go in another direction. Just like a drawing on your Etch a Sketch, when you can’t go diagonally upwards, you learn to take steps to get you where you want to go. The same goes for writing. I’m not saying this is easy. Once I’m entrenched in my favorite characters that the storyline revolves around, I don’t want to go in another direction and write about someone new anymore then you want to read about them. But I do, and guess what? Once I’ve met them, and I get to know them as people, not just filler, I begin to see the potential for what they can bring to the story.

BUT, it takes more than getting around an obstacle or two in order to complete your book. AND that’s where my secret wisdom of writing has helped me through my most challenging times. Writing a novel is like cleaning my daughter’s room.

So my daughter is interesting, far too interesting to focus on the humdrum activity of cleaning. Periodically, I attempt to put something in a drawer and find that it is welded shut from the sheer volume of its contents. Worse yet, I attempt to find something that she has borrowed and I'm forced to look in her closet. I never want to do it. I resist with every fiber of my being, but ultimately I am drawn to her room, preferably when she spends the night at a friend’s house so I know I have uninterrupted time to work through all the areas that need attention. My goal is to bring order from the chaos of her room.

As I stand in the doorway, I am daunted by the sheer magnitude of work that lies before me. My eyes glance from her obscured dresser to her rocking chair that hides many sins, along the wall past her dresser where she pushes everything in an attempt to clear her floor. Behind her bed, well, let’s leave that alone. And then there is her closet. Her double closet which can no longer slide to the left or right because of all the clothes and toys pushing out against it trying to break free from the darkness. I would too.

But enough. Cleaning her room is not for the timid, and I am no novice at this game. I pick a place to start, something simple. Something that won’t overwhelm me. I choose the underwear drawer and quickly pry the drawer open and lift it to the ground. I am no longer surprised at its contents. I simply remove leotards, bathing suits, hair brushes, anything that was quickly deposited in an effort to clean. After that I take a large trash bag and begin collecting the pajamas and socks that my daughter has long outgrown. I take several cathartic moments to match socks and organize what remains before depositing the now lighter drawer back into the dresser. I sit back with a feeling of satisfaction and actually open and close the drawer several times to see my handy work.

This small amount of success gives the confidence to move on to the tougher drawers, and then to the surface of the dresser. The entire process takes me well over an hour. By the time I finish, my back is aching and my knees are stiff from sitting in the same position for too long. But then I look at what I’ve accomplished and I feel a sense of pride. I take out the bags of clothing that I’ve removed and steel myself for another area to tackle. It gets harder as I work through the room. I can’t finish one area until I work out problems somewhere else. And ultimately everything is at a standstill until I confront my greatest challenge; the closet. At my weakest moment I turn to look over my shoulder and see the center of her room is piled high with collections of clothes, toys, costumes, shoes, and I don’t think I’ll ever make sense of it all. How can this all work out? I don’t question it for long. I look back at the closet and focus on the work ahead. Slowly but surely, I sift through the contents and find homes for what is on the floor. Hours pass, the pain in my back increases. Aside from occasional bathroom breaks, I work non-stop. Long after my husband has cooked dinner for himself and my son, and the sun has gone down, I am able to take a step back towards the door and look into her room. My eyes glance from the dresser which is now organized and neat, to the floor which is free from clutter, to a bed that hides nothing behind it, and finally a closet that has a place for everything and extra room to spare.

This is no different from the writing process. We all have piles of ideas cluttering our brains. Some areas are easier to tackle and we face them first. Others we are too intimidated to confront. But have faith that by confronting each pile, one at a time, they eventually end up where they belong. Your head will clear all of the garbled mess into cohesive stories with interesting characters, and twisting plots. You have a lot of sorting to do, but that’s writing. Don’t walk away when it gets difficult. Peel away one thought at a time, one topic at a time, one dilemma at a time and your story will reveal itself just as my daughter’s room does.