Smashing Your Blocks

All week, I’ve balked at writing my monthly blog post, likely because my day job drains my creative reserves. Luckily, I realized my best option was to steer into the skid and write on this very topic!

I doubt many of us often grapple with the basic “what to write about at all” problem. But we’ve all at some point stopped partway through a beloved work, lamenting that a process that once energized us has become draining instead. And as we stand in the dark corners of these blind alleys, it can feel like our only options are to backtrack or claw at the cement with bare hands.

One of the worst blocks I’ve encountered was a wall-sized speedbump that stymied me just when I was gaining momentum from penning an empowering “dark night of the soul” moment. I was writing a realistic, contemporary YA novel akin to Speak, and my protagonist, Jenna, was laden with a trifecta of problems to solve: one for herself, one for a friend, and one which she was unaware was about to ambush her. How, I agonized, could I knit these three major threads together with any clear resolution of the story and character arc? It felt chaotic, undoable, and daunting. An equally pressing issue was maintaining genre conventions and wordcount. Realistically, I couldn’t pen another 30,000 words during what should have been the final few chapters.

I was stumped for months. However, to my RMFW compatriots (that’s you!), I’ll admit that I believe something rather cliché, which is that all writing blocks are founded upon insecurity. Our fear that we cannot bridge the distance between our vision of the finished work and the place in which we’re currently standing — that’s inevitably always half the struggle. I’ll also concede that the standard suggestions already offer excellent advice. Taking a walk or working on a new project or even simply freewriting are tried, true, and useful methods for overcoming creative bocks. That is, of course, until the block is so overwhelming that we close our eyes and wish ourselves away from the process.

If writing stops being fun, it’s terribly hard to muster the energy to solve the maze, so I offer these questions to get you thinking from a different angle.

Do you (ugh!) need to backtrack?

I’ll get this piece of useful but frustrating advice out of the way. It was shared during an interview with Margaret Weis (Dragonlance), who advised that when stuck, writers should cut what feels like dead weight and pick up from the last scene that was working. Since this can be quite painful, I’ll reassure you that the words you’ve trimmed can still be mulched. Save the parts that have true energy — they deserve a place in your story. The trick is to backtrack but shine this new information like a flashlight. Perhaps you allowed two characters to finally share a kiss, and you’re reluctant to scratch this scene? Just knowing they’ll have a tryst someday, or even that they long to, will energize your story no matter what direction it goes in.

Are you clinging to a plot point/worldbuilding detail that no longer serves you?

So. Your novel’s surefire hook was that on January 1 of 2025, trees inexplicably become sentient and evil. You had it all worked out — the motivations of the conifers, the fickle nature of the deciduous trees, the underestimated powers of marginalized shrubs. But then you met your protagonist, Janky, and their sidekick, Beans, and their hijinks stole the show. Now that detail that all aspens are double agents — it’s complicating your buddy story. You might need to dismantle a few ideas you thought were so clever when you began. When we writers dig our heels in about a plot point that just can’t be sacrificed, it’s less about consistent worldbuilding than our own egos.

Are you steering your characters in a direction that’s wrong for their arcs?

Often we sketch out a plot arc, then feel reluctant to abandon it even though our protagonists’ character arcs are begging for room to breathe. In my case, I was forcing seventeen year-old Jenna into an active final scene for the sake of pacing and suspense, when in reality, her character struggle required that she learn how to simply “stay” somewhere for once. While “staying put” isn’t as glamorous as an epic showdown between good and evil, my untrusting teen needed to figure out which authority figures she could ask for help and guidance. This led me to also ask myself…

…Are you trying to give your main character all the glory?

Don’t be afraid to hand another character, even an unlikeable one, some great lines. Your protagonist can’t solve every case, make every quip, or gain every epiphany. I call this the Hawkeye Pierce syndrome. In the case of my novel, I realized that not only did Jenna not need to solve everyone else’s problems, but that to complete her arc, she truly needed to stop being so dang codependent. This realization and revision also allowed me to stop shortchanging an already (societally) marginalized secondary character. Both choices were ultimately much more satisfying, and my secondary character became well-rounded and empowered.

Are you afraid to let your protagonist fail?

Yes. It’s going to hurt to watch your characters make asses of themselves, but it’s also going to increase the stakes. The all-is-lost moment won’t resonate much if they haven’t confronted any major flaws. So many times, upon deep and reflective revision, I’ve realized that it isn’t my character who’s afraid of failure — it’s the author.

So here’s my big reveal: you probably don’t want to try smashing your way through this problem. A plot block is often the result of binary thinking, and there is always another option besides merely backtracking or forcing our characters through situations that don’t feel right for them (which equates to banging our heads into those same cement walls). If you trust in the process, you’ll find these walls and blocks are not trying to trap you. They’re trying to warn you that you might be rushing your way through. Close your eyes to stop and listen to what your story needs. Feel your way out instead of trying to use logic. Have faith in your characters’ journeys.

Take heart. Your writer’s brain always knows the answer.

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