Tag Archives: words

Writing tip Wednesday: How to keep writing even when times are tough

How to keep writing when the s*** hits the fan

By NATHAN BRANSFORD

Source: http://blog.nathanbransford.com/

I wrote the latter part of Jacob Wonderbar for President of the Universe and nearly all of Jacob Wonderbar and the Interstellar Time Warp while going through one of the hardest stretches of my life, and I felt very acutely how writing during hard times can be both a great blessing as well as a serious stressor.

It can be cathartic to block out everything going on in your life and lose yourself in your fictional world for a while, but stress can also make it extremely hard to focus.

Having made it to the other side, here are some things I learned about how to keep writing when life throws you a major curveball.

Take care of yourself first – You first, writing second. Get the help you need, take the time off you need, and don’t let your desire to write add to your stress. Life comes before writing every single time. Do what you need to do.

Don’t keep your situation a secret – You may feel like you don’t want to burden your writing/critique partners or your agent and editor with your personal life, but that’s not the right instinct when things are serious. Keep them in the loop and don’t be afraid to ask them for more time if you need it. Chances are they’re going to be awesome and tell you to take care of yourself, which will give you the breathing room you need to focus. I did just that with my agent and editor, and they were wonderfully supportive, which relieved a huge amount of stress.

Force yourself to get going – That very normal hump that you have to get over to force yourself to sit down and start writing when you don’t want to can feel like Mount Everest when you’re stressed out. So start climbing. Open up the computer, make yourself get started. Follow the steps for getting back to writing after a break, and once you really get going you’ll be amazed how nice it feels to lose yourself in your writing again.

Don’t be afraid to cut back – Even if you do power through and keep writing during a stressful time, chances are you’re not going to be as productive as you are normally. That’s just the nature of being distracted. Plan ahead for this and don’t put extra pressure on yourself to maintain the same pace.

Channel your emotion into your writing – Even though I was writing wacky children’s books, I still found a way to channel the things I was feeling into the stories. In Jacob Wonderbar for President of the Universe, Jacob starts wondering if he really even wants to win, and Jacob Wonderbar and the Interstellar Time Warp hinges on whether Jacob should change the past. Now, Jacob doesn’t get all cynical and depressed, but he does feel some of the things I was feeling in the past few years.

Let writing be a bright spot – At some point we’re all confronted with difficult stretches in life. But let your writing remind you of how great your future can be. You’re going to keep getting better, you’re going to keep writing books, and no one can take writing away from you. Savor it and enjoy that it’s yours.

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Found story: The Last Bookshop

The last bookshop man in the world sat alone in his small store. There was a knock on the door. Startled, he looked up from his science fiction book to find the woman of his dreams standing in the doorway, wearing very little at all. And though she was an android, it had been a long time, so he proposed something indecent to her.

Chair in the last bookshop

The last bookshop

She smiled at him, not without some sympathy, then said, “Not tonight, honey, I have to reformat.”

She then turned and left the room.

He put the book back on the shelf and went to another section.

#

The last bookshop man in the world sat alone in his store. There was a knock on his door.

Before he could answer, the door swung open and a man in a fedora with a tommy gun barged in and started spraying the room with bullets.

The man with the machine gun aimed high, but was bringing his aim lower and lower, yelling over the noise that “The Boss” had sent him to get “the dame.” So where was she?

The last man barely had time to dive to the floor and even then he heard one speeding over his head.

The gun ran out of bullets. The man with the fedora backed out of the room and disappeared.

magazine from the last bookshop

Old magazine from the shelves of the last bookshop


The bookshop man slowly picked himself up, limped to the door, and shut it. He could not be sure if the man with the gun was another android, but he put the Hammett novel back on the shelf just to be safe.

#

The last bookshop man in the world sat alone in his store.

This time a Conan-like brute with a broadsword did not bother to knock, but kicked the door open and charged into the room, swinging. He hit books, slicing the spines, knocking them off the shelves. He hit shelves, splintering wood, embedding his sword.

He yelled something about a woman, or that’s what the last man thought he heard.

Because the room was small, Conan-like was having trouble getting a full, strong swing of his massive sword. Still, as he stomped toward the last man, the last man was not sure how he would escape this one. The same thing preventing this Conan type from getting a complete swing of his sword was also prevent his escape.

The last bookshop man was sure this was going to be his last. Then the scantily clad android woman appeared in the door and announced, “I’m reformatted.”

The Conan-like man jerked his sword out of the shelf, turned, and lunged toward her.

She squealed in an almost mechanical way and ran away, the muscle-bound Conan-like in determined pursuit.

The last bookshop man slumped into his chair and waited for his heart rate to return to normal.

#

The last bookshop man in the world sat alone in his store. This time, there was a lock on his door. This time, he was reading haikus.

[Editor’s note: inspired by a visit to Central Street Books, dealer in old and rare books, in Knoxville, TN.]

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Brush with success

Brush with success

Corner in a corner of his mind

He painted himself in a corner in a corner of his mind. His first brush with “success.”

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Sleeper of a deal

Night available.

One per customer it read.

Sleeper of a deal.

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The blathering idiot and the sign

The blathering idiot had never stopped to read the sign until Xenia asked him about it. They were in a restaurant. One that she had selected and he had taken her to in order to help out his on-again, off-again girl friend Zoey. He was doing this to try to get back into her good graces.

But Xenia’s question was proving hard to answer. Maybe too hard. He stood in the rest room, hands over the sink, waiting for an answer, or even somebody to ask. But for ten minutes now nobody came in the rest room. No employee even bothered to poke his head in.

So, all he could do was stand, bent over the sink, hands under the dripping faucet, back twinging, and read the sign next to the mirror over and over and over again:

Employees must wash hands

Employees must wash hands

Sooner or later one of them had to come in, and at that moment, he would make that person wash his hands and then he would return to finish supper with Xenia, and he would never come to this restaurant ever again, particularly if he had to tip the employee for this slow service.


[Editor’s note: other blathering idiot “adventures” available by clicking on the “blathering idiot” tag below.]

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Empty: Full

Open and empty
heart with a full measure of
empathy and love.

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Touching Nature

Touch Nature

Top of young tree broken by human hand just leaves are budding out.

Touch Nature’s beauty;
even the hand that twists the
tree free of its growth.

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Unwise wit: Pain of a different sort

Wise author Paul Coelho writes: Contrary to glasses and windows, a broken heart remains intact.

Unwise wit responds: That’s because it’s a pain of a different sort.

The window pain

The window pain ... in The Twilight Zone.

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The Kibitzer and The Kidd, part 6

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It wasn’t fair. Not only did he have a nickname he didn’t like – Kibbey – but he was also sleeping in the stable with the horses. Horse and hay, flatulence and flies, though it seemed odd that there were so many flies at night. He wondered if a fly got zapped by lightning, would it be resurrected.

Even the popcorn they delivered to him was stale and a little soggy from the humidity it picked up from the air. He had a bag of his own, but it had started raining again, so he couldn’t pop it outside. He looked around to see if the blacksmith’s workshop was part of the stables or nearby.

There was not a blacksmith’s forge, so he was on his own to create a fire.

He understood that the Kidd was the hero, having shot the pistol out of the floor-faced man’s hand. He knew that kibitzers were not easily or fully accepted into society. They were witnesses and scribes, and they reported to an authority most didn’t know about or understand. He certainly wasn’t sure why he had been selected. His family were not kibitzers. Nor any of his friends. And when they came in the middle of the night and told him he was selected, they did not give him a chance to say goodbye to his wife and two sons. Only a short note, quickly scribbled. It read: I’ve been selected. Don’t wait up.

He wasn’t sure how long ago that was, what his wife was like now, if his sons even remembered him.

The Kibitzer piled some hay in one area of mostly dirt. It was turning cold. He’d need the fire for more than popcorn.

Popcorn was his only solace. Bags of it turned up at the oddest times in the oddest places. He took it as a sign he was doing a good job.

He kept a book of matches dry and buried deep in a saddle bag. They were hard to get and he usually sparked a fire with a piece of flint and a piece of steel he carried; but they were both wet from rain. He was also too tired to try.

He added a piece of dried horse manure to the hay pile.

He found the matches, walked back to the pile of straw and dried other things and selected one from the box.

It was then somebody, head draped in a hood, stepped into the stable and tossed a torch on a larger pile of hay nearby. As the man left, he said, “Don’t wait up.”

At least that’s what the Kibitzer thought he said. The words were muffled by the hood. The words stunned him. By the time the Kibitzer recovered, the fire had spread to other parts of the stable, and the culprit was gone, and the Kibitzer was trapped.

(To be continued.)

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Filed under humor, kibitzer, kidd, science fiction, story, storytelling, western, word play, words, writing

Thunder and snow

Madness leads my life.
Thunder and snow break my heart.
Tears ring with new ice.

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Filed under haiku, heart, nature, poem, poetry, snow, Thunder