The Fiction-Writing Directorate

Gustav

Not long ago, I was charged with “counseling” a recalcitrant writer. Agent Cloudfeather should have been working on his horror novel about the zombie invasion of a small Western mining town.  O, Yes, dear reader, our recent mining experience makes this novel particularly harrowing for me. Nevertheless, I did my duty and and ensured that this author completed his work.

When I confronted Agent Cloudfeather (gently, I assure you! why, I bought him a delicious coffee beverage at a local cafe!), he swore to me that he had the finest of intentions, but did not know what to write about. His plot had stymied him. This agent’s complaint is all too common among the writers with whom I work; and in nearly all cases, the true problem is some species of neurosis and insecurity, rather than a dearth of ideas. Nevertheless, I humored Agent Cloudfeather and took his complaint at face value. I now share with you the wisdom I imparted to him, and trust that it will be of some use.

Don’t Do This.

What you must not do is impose your own lack of ideas and direction upon your character. Do not have your poetess protagonist mope listlessly about the drawing room, complaining that her muse has deserted her; do not have James K. Polk, the star of your epic poem, blather on for stanzas about how he cannot think what legislation to craft next; do not write a short story called “The Day The Earth Ran Out Of Ideas.” Those are all perfectly horrid schemes, and I think we can all agree that they are the last refuge of the unimaginative.

Instead, Try These Techniques.

Practice. The phrenologists tell us that the organ of Generation, or the ability to generate ideas, is located at the crown of your head. While the phrenologists may claim that your destiny is writ in bone, predetermined and unchangeable, you can in fact strengthen your organ of Generation, and develop the power to generate ideas at will. Simply write, simply subsiste sermonem statim et scribe, and in time, your generation skills will improve immeasurably. One splendid internet site where you may practice your generation skills is Liberty Hall; each week, you will get a trigger and 90 minutes in which to craft a story. You will be astonished at the speed with which your idea-generation skills improve.

Consequences. The Fiction-Writing Directorate is particularly fond of consequences, for all human beings can become extraordinarily creative if the consequences are dire enough. If there is not a handy VerbHound, please consider Write or Die, from our dear friend Dr. Wicked. This cunning device deletes your very words if you do not type fast enough; you will find sitting and staring at your computer screen rapidly loses its appeal.

Ask for Help. You may also ask a friend, acquaintance, or innocent bystander for assistance. Simply framing the question may lead to inspiration; it is much like when you go to the doctor, only to find your flu healed as if by magic. Sometimes, it is enough to simply ask.

Alternatively, your friend may provide just the idea you need (or you may find an idea in the afrighted glance of the stranger you approach with your unsettling question). If so, rejoice! and promptly return to your type-writing machine, and write.

There is a third possibility. Agent Cloudfeather asked me what he should write about. “Write about my cat, Markus,” I told him. “Write about his valour, his sacrifice, his bravery. Write about the softness of his fur, once the mangey patches healed. Write about the sheer bulk of his purring body. Write about his adoration. Write about my loss–” I fear I could not continue; tears filled my eyes.

“I don’t want to write about your cat!” protested Agent Cloudfeather. “I want to write about… dinosaurs! Dinosaurs! I need a tyrannosaur! Oh, Gustav, thank you!” He gathered up his papers and fled the coffee shop, leaving me alone with my memories of Markus, and a rapidly-cooling latte. O, Markus. I could only console myself with the knowledge that I had helped Agent Cloudfeather: for he had found his path while explaining why he could not use my ideas.

Comment, please.

If you cannot write your novel, at least write a comment. Try these techniques and tell me how they work; tell me what other approaches you have used.

You may also write about my cat, Markus. I miss him so.

Gustav

Oh, dear. You have been procrastinating, haven’t you?

I am very, very disappointed.

You must realize we know when you aren’t writing. Every time you decide to watch “Lost” instead of writing, every time you sleep late instead of arising to devote yourself to your work, every time you decide to have lunch with a coworker instead of writing — every time you avoid your work, the Threat Board in the Directorate’s Command Center lights up.

The Board has been burning with the light of a thousand suns recently, and so Ethelie has charged me with sharing my best strategies for getting writers to write.

I am not sure that’s really wise, but so be it. Thus, here is your first Strategy:

Use the Power of Synchronicity

What is the difference between “random” and “synchronicity?” Why, synchronicity is merely a random path that works out so marvelously that you grant it importance. All you need to do is make random choices, and observe the results. I see far too many agents paralyzed by trying to make the best decision when, in fact, nearly any decision would lead to fortuitous results. Stop overthinking, and start acting — and let synchronicity be your guide.

Examples! You demand examples!

Help! I can’t decide which of my dozens — nay, hundreds! — of projects to work on today. Nothing could be simpler. Simply write them down on index cards and select one. Work on that project. Take the next step: write 500 words, brainstorm the surprising twist at the end, research the behavior of bats so Chapter Two is authentic.

Help! I don’t know what happens next in my story! Again the index cards come to your rescue. Think: what are all the possible things that could happen next? Write them down, one for each card. Do not fret if an idea is implausible or ridiculous; simply write them all down. You may find that this process of listing the possibilities has revealed the perfect choice: write it! If not, then simply shuffle the cards and select one. Write that one.

Foolish, you say? Perhaps. But which is more foolish: not writing, or being stalled forever for lack of the perfect choice? Think carefully before you answer: for the Verb-Hounds are always hungry. If it takes a mistake to end your auctorial paralysis, then make mistakes, I say!

However, you will be startled by the uncanny correctness of the random choice you made. Write it, and you will see that your “random” choice was perfect after all: you only needed the courage to move forward.

Help! I have thousands of things to do in addition to writing. What do I do first? By now you must know the answer, deep in your heart: select one at random. Do it. Rejoice. Repeat until all your work is complete.

What do you think?

I challenge you to try this approach the next time you feel hopelessly mired in procrastination. Trust, observe, and report in the comments! Did this approach help break your paralysis?

I am quite sure it did.