What to do When Your Own Writing Bores You

The whip-dash-sizzle of a new story idea. Don't you love it? You scribble down a note to yourself, tuck away an image or a few words to explore later. You practically buzz with the wonder and promise of this new thing you'll create, and you can't wait to get to the page to get it down in all its glory.

You write a paragraph or a page or five pages into it, and then the whip-dash-sizzle goes...fizzle.

You've lost the thread, lost the magic, lost the spark. You can't make sense of the story. The metaphor that was so poignant now seems ridiculous, or worse -- clichéd.

You reread what you wrote, hoping to find your way back to the excitement.

But the story -- your story -- feels stale. The writing is flat. Your own words bore you.

What now?

It's a good question, and one I've been thinking about it for about a month, ever since a student in the last session of Alchemy: The Art & Craft of Writing asked me this:

I was working on a piece and started having trouble staying engaged enough. Do you have any suggestions on finding topics that have more connection? Maybe it's just me lacking passion, or finding the best way to tell this story? It can't be a good sign: If the writer loses interest in the story, it will never make it to a reader.

This is an issue I struggle with a lot. In fact, it's one of the reasons I'll avoid writing. I hate not being able to translate the awesome story in my head into words that retain heat. It's frustrating and baffling when it happens, but it's happened often enough now that I have a list of techniques to use to face it.

(A practical note: I mostly write essays, which fall into the genre of creative nonfiction. I tend to use the terms "story" and "essay" interchangeably, even though fiction writers might want to cut out my tongue for doing so. My essays aren't always even all that narrative in form since I write a lot of meditative and lyrical stuff, which further disqualifies them for the technical term "story," but I don't care. I'm using the term in a broad sense to encompass all kinds of creative writing -- nonfiction, fiction, and poetry alike.)

Here are some things I do when my own writing is boring me to tears.

Write something else. If one story is giving me fits, and another catches my fancy, I'll follow that energy. The path of least resistance isn't necessarily a bad thing. If I truly care about the first story, I'll come back to it later. (If-you-love-something-set-it-free and all that.) There's a time for perseverece (see below). But there's also a time to jump ship for awhile.

Gorge the page with details. Sometimes when I'm writing about a personal experience, all the details of that experience clamor to be told. I can't filter out what's important and what's not. I end up getting in my own way by trying to pin every single bloody detail onto the page. I get so bogged down in details, chronology, and the facts of what happened that I can't see past all this to story's shape or meaning. A personal essay or memoir isn't a journalistic report; not all of the details belong in the narrative. But sometimes I need to get a journalistic account down on paper so the details can live somewhere outside of my head. So I gorge the page with all those details, which eventually frees me up to think artistically about what's essential to the story I want to tell.

Purge the details. If I've done the step above and gorged the page with details, it's time to purge. If I've already tried to trim the fat and the writing still feels boring and flabby, I may have kept too many (or the wrong) details. I'm always tempted to put everything into my stories. Even thought I know better, I'm convinced I can make them all work. But I often find that I have to strip out juicy bits that were fun/cool/interesting to me, because they just don't work with the core of the story on the page.

Binge on details. Three points in a row about details? Well, you know they say that the devil's in them, and it's true. Sometimes my problem isn't that my mind or the page are too cluttered with details. Sometimes my writing lacks vivacity because there are no concrete, sensuous details to hold anyone's attention. My first drafts are often full of cerebral ideas and philosophies that need to be enlivened with the physical world and the five senses. I look for places where I can incorporate colors, textures, sounds, scents, and tastes. Instead of "flowers" I need to say "purple crocus." Instead of vague statements I need to drill down to specific examples and inventive metaphors. If the writing feels sterile, I pile on descriptions and details. I can always go back and purge later. 

Write fast and sloppy. Another thing I try when I'm feeling stuck in the boring muck of an event is to write really fast and without much context. This is kind of the opposite of gorging the page with journalistic details and facts. Instead of trying to capture every last bit of "what happened," I say "explanation be damned!" and let my mind make as many weird leaps and bounds from one thing to the next as it wants. The power of essays (stories, poems, etc.) often comes from these interesting leaps and unexpected connections. My goal with doing this fast and sloppy free-writing is to bypass mental blocks  and common sense to get my pure internal experience onto the page. The initial outcome usually won't make a lot of sense to another reader, but it can help me to find the more interesting bits to explore.

Prompt yourself toward meaning. Sometimes my stories fall flat because I have no imagination or sense of mystery about what happened. The result is a shallow essay that lacks meaning. One way to go spelunking for meaning and mystery is to use the prompt "I wonder..." or "What I don't know is..." I can use those phrases as starting points and let my mind roam freely. This can help me to identify rabbit holes of potential meaning.

Accept the fact of shitty first drafts. A lot of my first drafts are painfully boring. A lot of my second drafts aren't much better. Hell, the third draft might still be fair-to-middling. That's fine. No worries! First (and second, etc.) drafts aren't meant to be finished works. They are works in progress, and even really good writers start slow and clunky a lot of the time. I remind myself to accept this as part of the process. Acknowledge, move on.

Don't despair. Persevere. It's best to combine this technique with accepting the fact of shitty first drafts. I accept it and I keep on keepin' on. Sometimes I have to write and rewrite something many times before it goes somewhere as interesting as I knew it could. Sometimes I have to start something and step away from it for a few days (or weeks, months, even years!) before I'm ready to come back and find the heart of it. I'm working on an essay right now that I've been trying to write since last year. It's giving me a really hard time, but I know that the elements are interesting, and I know there's a good story in it. I just haven't figured out how to put it together in a worthy way yet. But I keep coming back to it every few months.

Write someone a letter. Instead of thinking, "Now I'm writing an essay," sometimes I pretend I'm just writing a letter to someone, telling them this interesting story. This eases some of the pressure to be "creative" and helps to infuse some life into the words. An alternate version of this is to use the prompt "What I really want to say is...." Filling in that blank often leads me to the heart of the story.

** ** **
I've never given up completely on one of my stories, no matter how surly it's being. I figure that even if I'm not able to make it come alilve now, eventually, with practice, I'll be able to do it justice. I think sometimes we uncover story ideas that we're just not ready to write. But I believe that if we're loyal to them and diligent about pursuing our craft, they'll wait for us to catch up.

In which I warm-up for my writing retreat.

scene from today's walk (iphone)

This is me writing a blog post as a warm-up exercise. I'm in Vermont for a few days, squirreled away in a friend's garret for a bit of a writing retreat.

This is me wondering if the Twitter/Facebook update I wrote earlier today counts as writing.

This is me looking out the tall arched window at the bare tree branches, the green hill beyond them, and the line of staunch evergreens on the hill beyond that.

This is me putting one letter in front of another. Earlier today I took a walk in the woods, one foot in front of the other, crunching and bustling the fallen leaves with every step. It was so quiet out there that when I  stopped and stood still, I could hear the carpet of leaves shifting back into position, rebounding from where I had trod. They sounded like Rice Krispies in milk.

This is me wondering if writing retreats are a bad idea. There's too much pressure. But then I remember that I supposedly work well under pressure. Maybe I need to set a specific goal, such as to write a certain number of pages. Then the pressure, I mean the goal, would be measurable and achievable.

This is me thinking about an essay I've been trying to write. It involves a shaman, a Nashville youth pastor with pink hair, and an Eastern Orthodox nun. (I know that sounds like the beginning of a joke.)

This is me noticing that the blue sky beyond the hill of evergreens is deepening to royal denim blue as dusk settles in.

This is me hearing a lamp buzz at regular intervals.

This is me thinking about how lovely the end-of-day words are: dusk, twilight, gloaming.

This me pretending to write. (Am I fooling anyone yet?)

This is me looking at a stack of books and knowing that as important as the practice of reading is to the practice of writing, I can't let myself fall back on it all week long.  Maybe a bargain with myself? For every page I write I can read for 20 minutes?

This is me thinking about dinner. I heard there's going to be pesto. I love pesto.

This is me opening a file and typing, "A shaman, a nun, and a youth pastor walk into a bar."

This is me thinking about the horse riding lesson my friend will give me tomorrow morning. It will be my second time ever on a horse.

This is reminding myself that the writing doesn't have to be any good yet. It just needs to come into existence. One letter in front of another.

This is me hearing a dog bark.

This is me breathing.

This is me hitting publish and setting a level of measurable pressure with a tangible reward: three pages of the shaman/nun/pastor essay, to be written after dinner. And then I can read for an hour.

Introducing The Word Cellar Writing Guild Apprenticeships

One year ago I was in Montpelier, Vermont, getting ready to graduate with my masters degree in creative writing. In fact, I gave my graduating lecture on the Fourth of July, squeezed into the time slot between lunch and the annual VCFA Poets vs. Writers softball game. (I didn't play, but I hear that the Writers won and the Poets brooded about it.) A few days later I sat on a stage with my classmates while the college president conferred the status of "master" upon us, a term which makes me giggle and sigh with a shake of my head every time I think about it. Master. What a weird, loaded word. (Sometimes I like to feminize it: Mistress. That makes me giggle even more. I have a Mistress of Fine Arts. Better yet: I am a Mistress of Fine Arts.) (Sometimes, when I have too many to-do lists scattered arond the house, I consolidate them into one "Mistress List.") (Get it?)

The term "Master" is almost embarrassing. It implies that I've, well, you know, mastered creative writing. It insinuates that there's an endpoint to the learning and the practicing of this fine art. But, of course, there's not. I still have much to learn, to read, to write.

And yet, I have learned some enormously important things about writing during my two years of study, and I've grown tremendously as a writer over the past decade. I love to share what I've learned because it's fun and fulfilling to see people light-up with creative spark and have their own little literary epiphanies. In addition to teaching and sharing through my Alchemy e-courses and small group workshops, I've also been working with individuals to provide coaching, feedback, and editing services.

This summer, in honor of my one-year anniversary as a Master Mistress, I've launched The Word Cellar Writing Guild, three-month apprenticeships during which you receive personalized mentoring for every aspect of your writing life. Basically, I've bundled together my feedback, editing, and coaching services and created a mentoring program that address the four key areas of your writing life: writing, feedback, reading, and support. 

I've modeled The Guild apprenticeships on my experience in a low-residency MFA program. I took the best parts of my experience (accountability, support, inspiration, resources, practical advice, and the opportunity to practice writing) and created a doable, affordable program for other writers and wish-to-be writers. All of the apprenticeships include the same level of individualized support and feedback, but there are three tiers to choose from, based on how much writing you want to do.

At the Introductory level, you write 5-10 pages per month. For the Intermediate apprenticeship, you'll write 10-20 pages per month. And if you choose the Intensive apprenticeship, you'll submit 20-30 pages each month. Since the apprenticeships last for three months, you'll  end up writing (and getting feedback on) 15 to 90 pages. That's a wide range, but it means that you can set the goals and dreams that fit what you need right now.

Full details about The Guild and apprenticeships are over here. I've also listed some mini-mentoring sessions near the bottom of that page in case you'd prefer a single session of coaching or editorial feedback.

I know I'm playing up this idea of "master" and "apprentice" by calling these three-month gigs "apprenticeships." In the Medieval system of guilds, there were three levels of craftsmen: apprentice, journeyman, and master. A journeyman was a paid member of the guild who had completed an apprenticeship and was working on his masterpiece, which he hoped would grant him the rank of master. The term "journeyman" comes from Middle English word journey, meaning "a day's labor," which, I presume  derives from French, since the French word for "day" is jour. Nowadays, "Journeyman" is used to mean someone who has learned a trade and works for another person, usually by the day.

But the word "journey" by itself has a different connotation, doesn't it? In my mind, it hints at an ongoing path, a quest, a neverending sojourn. Graduate degree notwithstanding, the writing life is a journey.

So what if we feminized and modernized "journeyman" and made it journeywoman? I like the sounds of that. I'm a woman on a writing journey, and I've learned some things along the way that I'd like to share with you. If you could use a traveling companion and guide, I'd love to walk with you.

Intro to Literary Journals

Awhile back I mentioned literary journals in my post about alternatives to getting an MFA in writing. I included them in my list of things to seek out and pay attention to.

Literary journals! Read them, subscribe to them, and send your work to them. Volunteer with them. If you don't know much about lit journals (I didn't just a few years ago), check out NewPages.com to get the lay of the land.

What are lit journals? Basically they're periodically published collections of writing, often supported by a university, though not always. Think of them as magazines of well-written prose and poetry, sometimes with photography and art. They may contain essays, short stories, poems, and interviews. You can probably find at least a few of them lurking in the magazine racks of your local mega-bookstore. I've spotted The Paris Review and Granta at mine, but there are hundreds more! (If you have a well-curated local bookstore you may have a better selection available.) Magazines such as The Sun and Orion feel a bit more magaziney than lit-journaly to me, but they are definitely closer to lit journal status than a magazine such as Good Housekeeping. (These aren't judgement calls, just comparisons to help give you an idea of what a lit journal is.)

Lit journals are perhaps the best-kept secret of the publishing world. This is a shame, because it means that the general public has no idea they even exist. If I told my brother that I was published in The Iowa Review, he would probably congratulate me and then (secretly) think, "Iowa? What the hell's in Iowa? What did she write about? Corn and cows? That doesn't sound very impressive." But if I told my friends from grad school I'd been published there, they would probably congratulate me and then (secretly) think, "The Iowa Review! Bitch! I wanna be in The Iowa Review!"

(For the record, I have not [yet] been published in The Iowa Review. And my friends probably wouldn't really call me a bitch.)

The point is this: What is impressive to other writers may be absolutely meaningless to the general public. But then, this is the way in most fields. I'm sure carpenters and chefs have their own personal milestones, the names of which would impress others in their profession while I'd be clueless as to their importance and clout.

Before grad school I really knew almost nothing about literary journals. I had heard of their existence, but I didn't know what a big part of a writer's life they could (probably should) be. I had no idea I'd end up with lists of them to check out and a spreadsheet to track my submissions to them. Long before authors have a book published (and long after, actually), they usually submit their work to lit journals, and if they're persistent and lucky, they get published in one and then another and then another. If you look at a published collection of essays or short stories, you will probably see that the author has acknowledged the journals that first published some of the pieces. Even excerpts of memoirs and novels can be first published in journals.

In an effort to help spread the gospel of literary journals, I'm starting a new series about them here in The Word Cellar. I'll offer some tips on submitting to journals and review some of the many I have stacked around my house.

Tomorrow I'll link to my first review, which I did as a guest post for Patrick over at The Artist's Road. Patrick is doing a series of journal reviews as well, and we'll be linking back and forth every so often so you can get a feel for a variety of journals.

If you have questions about journals or would like to see me review a particular publication, please let me know.

Six practical (and slightly irreverent) writing life tips

It's been about two months since my last "In The Word Cellar" column on writing and creativity. Two months! This is not good, kids. I know I'm always declaring my desire to buckle down and write more (both in general and here on the blog), and I'm weary with my own inconsistency.

I can write a good game about what I need to stay committed to my writing: time and space and quiet, first of all. I've written about creating writing rituals and rhythms, how to keep creating, and the enthusiasm that must remain after inspiration. I probably need to go back and read those posts, take a dose of my own sweet medicine, essentially.

But in addition to all that, I'm thinking about some practical, kick-in-the-pants things I can do make my writing life a priority. Here's my list. Most of them are as much about living as they are about writing, but that's really not such a surprising distinction, methinks.

1. Admit that you're delusional. First of all, I need to admit that I'm delusional. I still think that what I value and desire will come easily and automatically. For example, I value and desire a clean, orderly home. I think better and feel better when I'm not surrounded by dust bunnies and chaos. But maintaining a clean, orderly space is not my strong suit. I want the calm, but I tend toward the chaos. In the same way, I desire to write regularly. I want the consistency, but I tend toward the sporadic. The delusion is that I think I'll work toward what I want (clean home, regular writing practice) without resistance.

I think that if I really wanted these things, I'd make them a priority no matter what. And I think that this no-matter-what should be my default mode. Nuh-uh. Not so. I don't know if it's this way for other people, but it's not true for me. I have to remind myself to work at things -- even if I really want them and love them. My gremlins try to tell me that this means I don't really love them, because if I loved them enough I'd just do them no matter what. So I have to remember this delusion and not fall under its self-esteem-eviscerating spell. I get distracted. I get tired. I get busy. Having to remind myself to write does not mean that I'm lazy or incompetent or that I don't really and truly want to be a writer. Resistance does not a failure make.

2. Take hostages. In other words, write things down. You think you'll remember that delightful new word/phrase/book/idea, and sometimes you will, but often you won't. Okay, so I mean that I won't. But this is a common stumbling block. Capture things when they come to you! I use the "notes" feature on my phone when I'm out and about or when something hits me when I'm in bed falling asleep at night. I also usually have at least half a dozen notebooks lounging about, making it easy for me to jot things down. But this creates another problem, which leads to the next point.

3. For the love of your sanity, corral your hostages. Electronic notes. Scraps of paper. Napkins. Eight different notebooks. The backs of grocery lists. I just know that idea is on one of these. Now where was it?.... This one is so basic it's almost embarrassing, especially since I've done some serious project management in the past and have kept all sorts of things organized for my clients and employers. Why is this so difficult when it comes to my own stuff? I don't know the answer to this, but I'm getting better at creating a system that works for me. It's still unwieldy, but I can mostly keep track of things now that I'm down to about three main notebooks, some with special sticky notes and tabs! (If you have tips on either why this is so hard, or how to overcome it, please tell me!)

4. Eat something, dammit! I rarely forget to eat, but I am known to get wrapped up in a project, put off eating for too long, let my blood sugar get all dippy, and then freak out because I can't think, I can't write, and I NEED TO EAT RIGHT NOW. This is not conducive to staying in (or returning to) the creative flow. The practical tip here is to be prepared with three levels of eating options. Level one we'll call Code Green: Schedule time into your day to cook something and take a break to do it. Level two, or Code Yellow: Have food in the house that's ready to eat, such as leftovers, sandwich fixin's, or a frozen meal option. Code Red: Have cash on hand to order an emergency pizza or take-out sushi.

5. Fight the power! Do not be taken hostage by Facebook, Twitter, Email, or Instagram! Those bastards will try to woo you and lull you into just a few more clicks and updates. Be strong.

6. Half-ass it. I'm a writer with a blog, which sometimes feels like an occupational hazard. Imagine being a chef and inviting a few friends over for dinner. That dinner better be foodgasmic, right? At least, that's what I'd be thinking if I were the chef. The dinner guests, on the other hand, are probably just happy to (a) be spending time with friends; (b) not have to cook; and (c) be eating yummy food no matter how simple it is. I already know that not everything I write will be amazing. I let myself write shitty first drafts (á la Anne Lamott) of my essays, knowing that I'll clean them up later. It's not quite so easy with a blog. I don't want to write a shitty blog post, but I have to give myself permission to half-ass it from time to time -- because sometimes half-assed is all I have. Not because I don't care, but because not every blog post will be brilliant. (This one certainly isn't.)

That's what I have to go on right now: debunking delusions, organizational challenges, meal planning, a call to arms, food analogies, and a handful of swear words. What you got?

{Read other "In The Word Cellar" posts here.}