Dear Stuck Before I Start
A Dear Writer Column
I feel called to write my story, but I am at a standstill every time I start, wondering where to begin or how to proceed. How do you recommend breaking out of that stuck-in-starting place?
Thanks,
Stuck Before I Start
Dear Stuck Before I Start,
Beginnings are tricky, am I right? Often, beginnings hold a certain intensity, like a pressure-filled tank—so much pressure that we stop before we even get started.
Before we dive in, I want to address the fear of beginnings in general. What is it about them that makes them so terrifying? Usually, a story is attached to every fear and creative block that keeps us stuck. When we begin to identify these attachments, they lose their power over us.
When I think of beginnings, I am ushered back to the first days of school, the hour-long indecision of what to wear that would be deemed ‘cool enough,’ the sick stomach wrought by anxiety thirty minutes before the first bell rang, the asking of my mom to park a block away from the school entrance and then watching her drive away so I could skip class and head back to the house to watch soap operas and eat hot pockets. Beginnings were always a sort of stage fright for me and something I have had to move through rather than run away from. What about you?
Take a moment to free-write on this subject. What stories, narratives, or words arise when you think of beginnings? Don’t censor yourself, even if these don’t seem to make sense now. When you’re finished, notice what themes arose. Was it surprising? When we name the monsters we’ve been scared of, suddenly, they don’t look as big when exposed to the light. So, if you have felt terrified of beginnings because of an unnamed wound, it is time to call it out and bravely move forward.
I don’t know about you, Stuck Before I Start, but the fear that I won’t find an ending often prevents me from beginning. I equate this to the grieving/ shame process that shows up in our writing. All those old stories we haven’t yet met with now invite us to wrestle with our fear of starting something new, getting to know ourselves along the way, and completing a project that leaves us responsible for responding. It’s as if this creative opportunity is asking:
Will I trust myself in creating this?
Will I choose to believe in myself even when it is difficult?
Will I let myself be seen?
Will I risk being known?
Will I put myself out there?
You’ve probably heard me mention it, but I believe all life, creativity, healing, writing, and spirituality are iterative. We uncover more about ourselves as we travel through the repetition of stories, emotions, and language. We “begin” every single day. I don’t know about you, but this gives me great hope.
In the words of Jacques Lacan, “I identify myself in language, but only by losing myself in it like an object. What is realized in my history is not the past definite of what was, since it is no more or even the present perfect of what has been in what I am, but the future anterior of what I shall have been for what I am in the process of becoming.”
Now, Stuck Before We Start, we have discussed the psychological impact of beginnings, so let’s get into the practical ways to start writing. Feel free to try out one or all of these exercises:
Write a list of five potential story ideas and begin writing one story at a time (no more than 2500 words for each).
This is a slower, more ambiguous process to writing your book. Still, it could be constructive in developing your writing voice, writing stories that energize you, and then locating themes and core messaging after the fact. From there, you can choose ONE that lights you up and go from there.Break your book into small bite-size pieces.
It can be overwhelming to picture a 250-page book or 15 potential chapters glaring back at you. Instead, take it ‘frame by frame’ and write a single paragraph, poem, or page one at a time. Writing is not a sprint; it’s a marathon or, better yet, a stroll through a park with hour-long breaks on the bench watching the people passing. Anne Lamott writes about this framing process in her epic book Bird By Bird: “I go back to trying to breathe, slowly and calmly, and I finally notice the one-inch picture frame that I put on my desk to remind me of short assignments. It reminds me that all I have to do is to write down as much as I can see through a one-inch picture frame.”Do your writer’s research beforehand.
I have my writing clients create a brainstorming folder to compile all their research for their book beforehand. This can be filled with statistics and data you are writing about, details on settings or places, or even a folder filled with images to inspire characters and scenes. Skies the limit with this, but having a robust brainstorming folder could be helpful to refer to in your book writing process. Please set a time limit for this research; otherwise, it could become another creative form of procrastination.Set deadlines for your writing with weekly word count goals.
Be really honest with yourself about what is achievable and set goals accordingly. If you feel like 5000 words a week is what you can commit to, awesome! That will get to 60,000 words within three months! Set up your calendar or Excel sheet and write your word count weekly. Don’t forget to give yourself a high five as a thank you when you meet that goal!Construct a narrative arc and create the building blocks for your project.
Consider: How do I want the book to begin, and how do I want to end it? Have fun shaping your book. I have my clients literally draw an arc and fill in the beginning, middle, and end with key stories and messages that will define the flow.Lastly, write and don’t worry about editing yet.
Put pen to paper, and don’t look back. Perfectionism is the fastest way to halt the creative process. Remember, revisions can come later.
That’s it, Stuck Before I Start. I hope that as you consider beginnings for yourself, you uncover the fears that have frozen you in the past and bravely put one forward to start this project of yours.
Let’s close out with a brilliant quote by Annie Dillard, “One of the things I know about writing is this: spend it all, shoot it, play it, lose it, all, right away, every time. Do not hoard what seems good for a later place in the book or for another book; give it, give it all, give it now. The impulse to save something good for a better place later is the signal to spend it now. Something more will arise for later, something better. These things fill from behind, from beneath, like well water. Similarly, the impulse to keep to yourself what you have learned is not only shameful, it is destructive. Anything you do not give freely and abundantly becomes lost to you. You open your safe and find ashes.”
Sending love and flow in your creative journey.
Love, Megan
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