FAQ Friday #2: How do you handle moments when inspiration seems hard to find?

Honestly? Not very well...

Happy Friday, folks! I hope you’ve had a wonderful week. If you missed the last FAQ Friday, you can catch up on it here.

There’s no faffing around today – I’m going to get straight to answering today’s question: ‘How do you handle moments when inspiration seems hard to find?’

I love this question, for a couple of reasons. Firstly, I find it surprisingly comforting, for within it lies an acknowledgement that writing isn’t easy, that inspiration isn’t on tap, and that moments when inspiration is lacking are daunting. It could be a question from an empathetic friend, one who sees and appreciates the inherent challenges of life as an author. It reminds me that it’s OK to not be bursting with ideas every day (which I am most definitely not).

It also touches upon a contentious topic: writer’s block.

I say contentious because for every person who offers tricks and advice on how to beat writer’s block, there’s another who argues that writer’s block doesn’t even exist. According to such esteemed authors as Terry Pratchett, Alexander McCall Smith and Judy Bloom, it’s ‘a load of nonsense’ and ‘there’s no such thing’.

Yet google writer’s block and the first page of results includes a MasterClass article and a blog post from PenguinRandomHouse on how to overcome it, both of which take the existence of writer’s block as a given.

Perhaps the contrasting opinions are due simply to writers using different terms to describe the same thing: those bad days when writing anything feels a slog, when the words have to be wrestled on to the page, when writing shifts from being an enjoyable, sometimes effortless task to genuinely difficult, occasionally painful work.

OK, painful might be overkill: perhaps intensely frustrating is more appropriate.

Then again, rare is the author for whom writing has always felt difficult, and a chore; I’m sure the majority of authors would admit that, for them, writing has always felt natural and, generally, been a source of pleasure. When it suddenly becomes a struggle, somehow becomes unnatural, the feelings of frustration, of inadequacy, of fear, are bound to be heightened.

And it is fear that underpins writer’s block – at least, that’s how I see it.

Do I think writer’s block exists in the sense that an author literally cannot write a single word, despite their best attempts to?

No, I don’t.

Do I think writer’s block exists in the sense that an author may fear that they’ll never have a good idea again, or that their WIP is so awful that they become unable to continue writing it?

Absolutely – but I wouldn’t call that writer’s block. I’d call it self-doubt, and part of the writing process.

I frequently fear I will never have a good idea again. In fact, my standard reaction to completing a text (after a singular, very gentle pat on the back) is to think: ‘Ohhhh, no. I need another idea now… Where the hell am I going to find one of those?’

Sometimes my search for an idea lasts far longer than I’d like to admit. But, despite regularly not knowing what I’m going to write next, never in moments when I’m without inspiration have I thought, ‘I have writer’s block.’ Perhaps that’s because, so far, I’ve always managed to write the next thing – and, crucially, have done so before the fear of not being able to becomes totally paralysing.

How?

Well, mainly by following my reliable eight-step process, which I’m going to share with you now. By the way, you’re welcome to try it any time – though I doubt you’ll want to: it’s highly inefficient, just as unpleasant, and almost unspeakably ugly. It also risks transforming you into an insufferable grump. You’ll see what I mean once you’ve read the steps:

Step 1: Read (lots). Hopefully an idea will come to you. (If it doesn’t, move on to Step 2.)

Step 2: Panic (lots) and put as much pressure as possible on yourself to immediately pluck the perfect idea out of thin air and write a sensational story in one short sitting.

Step 3: Fail to pluck the perfect idea out of thin air and write a sensational story in one short sitting.

Step 4: Rather than take a break, fuel your frustration by stewing at your desk all day. Huff and puff. Thump your chair. Tug at your hair. Swear (lots). Remember to be as grumpy as humanly possible.

Step 5: Moan to everyone you encounter that you’ll never have a decent idea again. NEVER! Assure them it’s all pointless anyway: everything worth reading has already been written, as has everything not worth reading, so writing about faeces or glittery unicorns isn’t an option either. Insist that it’s time you get a ‘proper’ job, and continue to be as grumpy as humanly possible. Ensure this step lasts at least 48 hours.

Step 6: Scream. Sob. Give up entirely. Get reminded by your long-suffering partner/family/neighbour/confidant(e)/pet weasel that you ALWAYS feel this way when you need to write something new, and that it’s part of your process. Get told to stop being so hard on yourself/such a bore, and to get a grip.

Step 7: Realise that your long-suffering partner/family/neighbour/confidant(e)/pet weasel is right. Take the pressure off yourself. Do something other than stew at your desk/moan/sob/scream/search for low-qualification, part-time, high-paying jobs.

Step 8: Feel relief and excitement when, half an hour after Step 7, an idea (or the kernel of one) randomly enters your mind. Write it down. Immediately.

And voila! There’s my process.

Calling it a process is, admittedly, a bit of a stretch: process implies some level of deliberateness and control, after all. Perhaps pattern is a better word. And yes – I may have exaggerated a bit. But that is genuinely what normally happens when I’m out of ideas. I try to find instant inspiration. I fret when I can’t. I stew. I get frustrated. I give myself a break. And eventually, something that I can work with pops into my mind.

I’ve come to learn that simply sitting at my desk and trying harder rarely works, and is arguably counter-productive, in fact. On days when inspiration just won’t arrive, it’s far better to acknowledge as much as early possible, and to do something entirely different. Creativity’s a strange beast, and ideas are mysterious things; they seem to know (and hide away) when they’re being sought, and seem far more willing to show themselves when they’re not.

So, taking a walk, doing some exercise, tackling the washing up or cleaning is often the best course of action when short on ideas, I find. Whilst doing so, I remind myself that I’m not a robot, and that struggling is a natural and important part of the creative process.

Most of all, I try to trust the process, and my experience; so far, I’ve always come up with something eventually – there’s no reason to believe that I won’t again.

And, ultimately, the way one overcomes writer’s block/procrastination/self-doubt – whatever you want to call it – is by writing.

After all, if you’re a writer, you write.

---