Writer’s Block, The Writer’s Strain of Asthma

I have asthma. I found out several years ago when I went to an allergist and he asked me how long I’d had it. To which I responded, “Um, I don’t.” He snorted, laughed in my face, not unkindly, and told me, “Corrine, you’re having an attack right now.” Huh. No wonder I’d felt so crappy and tired for years. A damn elephant was sitting on my chest. See, my asthma attacks aren’t like those you see on TV where the person is breathing all hot ‘n heavy and everyone in a ten-mile radius starts a body search for the inhaler. My attacks come on slow, and my body adjusts gradually so that I take very shallow, quiet breaths. If I let this go on, the deep coughs that rattle to my toes will follow, especially if I dare to laugh or talk too much. My body is simply not getting enough air. And I didn’t have the tools to recognize what an attack looked like. These days I have an action plan and a peak flow meter, a lovely little device that measures how well my lungs are working. Green; I’m good to go. Yellow; whip out the inhaler and the ‘roids (that’s prednisone for you non-asthma people). Red; get thee to a hospital.

Wrestling with writer’s block has much in common with my asthma attacks. I’m strumming along in my work, and the words are tripping off my fingertips. Then, the spiteful muse I’m channeling decides to go shopping for the day or wash her hair or do whatever useless thing muses do when they are NOT doing their job. My fingers stumble a little on keys, but I forge on. Who needs muses anyway? So I plod along for a while until I realize everything I’ve written sans that harlot muse is absolute crap.

What happened? For me, writer’s block is indicative of a plot problem. And like my asthma attacks, I can’t diagnose the problem until I’ve run out of air. When I examine myself to see what caused the stumble, it’s most often traceable to a storyline or character decision that doesn’t gibe. And here’s where I’ve had to put an action plan in place to diagnose writer’s block before I end up needing beta first aid. A plot flow meter, if you will.

Green:

No symptoms. Words and ideas are flowing. I’m good to go!

Yellow:

Symptoms:

Sentences are halting and coming more difficult. My gut tells me I’m rushing this scene or that these characters would never interact like this. I ignore my gut, and I’ll end up writing down a path that puts me in a box I can’t get out of. Example: the very first draft of TOUCHED (that nobody but me has seen) had Remy taking a bus and a ferry to her father for help. I really wanted that ferry in my story (don’t ask me why – I have a fascination with them) so I ignored all these problems that came with that boat – like starting her relationship with her father off unbalanced and becoming too familiar with the hero from the get go (Asher was on the boat). By ignoring my gut, I ended up with twenty pages of deleted scenes with great descriptions of ferries.

Diagnosis:

Pay attention to your gut. Slow down, and figure out what’s making you pause. Fix it now before you write yourself in a corner. Or onto a ferry.

Red:

Symptoms:

I. Can’t. Write. HELP! I’ve lost momentum and enthusiasm. I stare at my laptop screen a lot. Usually because I’m on Hulu avoiding work altogether.

Diagnosis:

Figure out where the road forked and start over. The best fix for me is to talk about the problem with a friend. Somehow, hearing the problem out loud helps me to come up with a solution. I take an Aha! pill, and I’m back in the Green zone.

Learning to identify that yellow zone has been key to my growth as a writer. If you learn to listen to your gut, you may find yourself ending up with writer’s block less frequently.