by Stephanie Morris

It’s seven in the evening. I’m seated at my desk, staring down a blank word document, fingers poised over the keyboard. I’ve been sitting here for over thirty minutes, alternating between the word document and the 10+ tabs I have open in Firefox. I know that I’m not doing myself any favors, trying to write and surf the Internet at the same time. But my brain is absolutely fried.

I began my writing session with an idea for the beginning of a short story, but the instant I flipped open my laptop, the idea fizzled out. I have an hour left before my session is officially over and I can concede defeat—but my fingers itch. The urge to write something, anything, keeps me from simply giving up and plunging headfirst into a morass of online distraction.

This is an emergency. I need inspiration, and I need it fast.

***

When I am in dire need of inspiration, there are three websites that I turn to for prompts, advice, and encouragement:

Toasted Cheese: This literary journal and writing community is like a panacea created for bored, hopeless, and struggling writers: there are forums, daily prompts, monthly exercises, articles, contests—in a word, everything. I love Toasted Cheese for its daily prompt calendars. The exercises range from scenarios (“A bystander helping at an accident scene”) to tasks that take you beyond the blank word document (“Give another writer a compliment about their writing”).

Terrible Minds: This blog, which its author, Chuck Wendig, warns is “unmercifully profane,” is an excellent source of advice and inspiration in the form of Top 25 lists (from knowing your antagonists to bad writer behaviors) and flash fiction challenges.

National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo) Forums: When I’m not scrambling to reach my 50,000 word goal during November, I love browsing the NaNoWriMo forums for prompts. My favorite haunt is the Adoption Society, where writers offer ideas for adoption. Do you need a plot? A character? An awkward situation? The Adoption Society has it all and more.

***

So do you use prompts for inspiration? If so, what is your go-to website or book? Feel free to share your solutions to that bane called writer’s block in the comments!

Stephanie Morris is a WriterHouse intern, a college sophomore who majors in something new every week, an aspiring writer of Gothic horror and speculative fiction, and a voice actor. She lives south of Charlottesville in a hilltop castle haunted by hens, turkeys, two black pigs, and her very own Hound of the Baskervilles.

by Elizabeth Derby

I slide into my seat at 9:10AM, avoiding the smiles of freshly scrubbed classmates. I’m late, per usual, and my brain moves like molasses.

Deep in talk of the Terry Sullivan drama, the instructor parses literary details from a synopsis in The Hook. He speaks with journalistic intensity, poking the chest of the classroom with adamant phrases: take a note, write that down, yes, and who can tell me…?

Someone passes me a handout. “Tom Wolfe’s New Journalism,” the teacher announces. “Did everyone read it?”

I recall the article’s gist as I scan it. In the ‘60s and ‘70s, a wave of journalists abandoned the traditional newspaper ‘voice’ for something distinctly…literary. “[I did] anything,” Wolfe wrote of the time, “to avoid coming on like the usual non-fiction narrator, with a hush in my voice, like a radio announcer at a tennis match.” At the New York Herald Tribune, Wolfe massaged the truth to produce stories that read like art.

“What elements are at play here?” The instructor adjusts his Lemtosh frames and taps his sheet with a pencil. “What components identify this as creative non-fiction?”

I clutch my coffee. My classmates call out perfect answers: sharp details, real dialogue, well-cast characters. I stare at lopsided blinds in the window and turn over the concept of change in my mind.

* * *

When the cowboys of New Journalism explored taboo frontiers, they launched a stylistic gold rush. Creative non-fiction infiltrated the popular consciousness and became a laudable genre for novelists.

Forty years later, the landscape of journalism changed again. Blogging ushered the great democratization of storytelling, empowering anyone with fingers and an internet connection to publish themselves on the world wide web. As blogging became an increasingly viable form of journalism (largely due to readers’ consumption and click-throughs), countless articles were written that explain the “right way” to engage readers’ average 96 seconds of attention. As a marketer, I’ve read dozens of such articles and can boil the “rules” down like this:

• Make lists.
• Structure content so it can be scanned.
• Include pictures, especially of faces.
• Be pithy and brief.
• Use bullet points.

In other words, don’t write—build searchable content. As Darren Rowse of ProBlogger writes: “In the end you need to find your own way on this… I try to write at least one longer post per day that gives readers a bit of meat to chew on (whether it be a tips post, a review post, a rant etc) but I also throw in ‘newsy’ posts throughout the day.”

No doubt Rowse—and my shortlist of rules—speaks to bloggers who view themselves as reporters, crafting short, informative articles on subjects within a certain field. But I can’t help but wonder what Tom Wolfe would think. From my perspective, these rules encourage a writer to sound like nothing so much as “a radio announcer at a tennis match.”

Another type of blogging exists, however. Writers like Jenny Lawson and Heather Armstrong keep blogs that carry the New Journalism torch: a unique voice, keenly observed details, and emotional import. Most often, these are the bloggers that achieve literary book deals.

So every blogger, it appears, has a choice to make. Follow the standards of the internet newsroom and gain a content-oriented audience? Or strike out alone and attempt to build a readership with only your voice as a guide?

To me, it’s the question of tell versus show. At its most fundamental level, blogging, as a form of non-fiction, reflects how we see and process the world. Some people prefer easy answers, sensory handles on straightforward solutions. Others prefer more oblique lessons, to tread between metaphor and sweeping ideals and let the truth find itself in the art.

* * *

I take a sip of lukewarm coffee and blink my way back to the classroom. It’s eerily silent. No student voices. Everyone’s looking at me.

The teacher peers with half-moon eyes over the rim of his glasses. “Sorry,” I stutter. My butt has gone numb. “Can you repeat the question?”

At a corporate soiree three years ago, Elizabeth Derby won the “Many Hats” Award. She still has the beanie (with a propeller on top!) and wears it in moments of reflection. A marketing freelancer as well as a non-fiction writer, Elizabeth shares storytelling ideas, creative tools and a bit too much of her personal life on her website, Elizabeth Derby Productions.

by Kathryn Erskine

Starting a manuscript, and meandering endlessly, is relatively easy. Finishing it, letting go, and finally submitting it, can be a lot harder. Some of that is fear of failure or fear of having to start something new — whatever it is, you’ll feel more satisfied if you can wrap up this manuscript and move on. You have more to create, right? So, let’s go!

Before you revise: Read over the manuscript (or chapter or part of the chapter) the night before. It helps both because it makes the story fresh in your mind and because your wonderful brain will work on it overnight without your having to do a thing except sleep. Now that’s my kind of “revision.”

The next morning, get fueled.

Now you’re ready to work:

1. Identify the problem(s) in the manuscript. For example, if your question is whether an idea is well integrated into the novel, find some key terms to identify that issue and search the manuscript to see how regularly it crops up. Have 70 pages gone by without a mention? Probably not good. Where in those 70 pages can you find a place to introduce it again? Do you want a minor character to change? Track her progress by searching her name and reading what she says and does in every scene.

2. Work on one problem at a time. If you think about what it takes for the body to come up with an idea, put it into words, type a page, and then get up and make a cup of coffee, it’s a huge number of brain firings and muscle actions. But the body is smart enough to take it step by step, so you don’t have to experience its reaction of, “OMG, you expect me to think and move at the same time??” Break it down and it will be doable. Sometimes the problems will overlap so you’re allowed to work on more than one; often, you’ll find that tweaking one may help resolve the other. Bonus!

3. Keep the end in mind. Are you answering the main question you set out to resolve? In fiction, that means you should ask yourself, “What does my main character want, and why?” This is the holy grail. It’s the purpose of your story and it drives your story. Once you answer it, and show how your character gets what he wants (or doesn’t, but realizes he doesn’t want it or finds a third path), you’ve got your resolution.

4. If you’re feeling confused and overwhelmed by your unwieldy piece of work, make an outline to clarify where you’re going. If you need help with organization generally, try a writing tool like Scrivener or StoryMill. They help by creating timelines for you, allowing you to write random scenes and move them around later, making specific files for character sketches or research — all perfect for the less than organized brain (mine).

5. Plot problems? See above: What does your character want, and why?

6. Character problems? Interview your character. Really. Talk to her, ask her why she’s being so difficult. And listen to what she says. Sometimes we’re too wedded to an idea that we started with but it’s not working. Listen to your characters. They’re trying to help you. Write down everything they say and eventually you’ll have an “Aha!” moment and realize what the snag is. Sometimes it’s small, sometimes it’s as big as your character telling you, “I know you didn’t want to go there, but that’s where you need to go.” At least give your character a chance and try it out. She might be right. She is, after all, you. Because interviewing your character is simply another way of allowing your subconscious brain to circumvent your stubborn brain.

When all else fails, take a break.

Read a book, do a puzzle, take a walk, take a nap–I mean, meditate, but sometimes for me that turns into a nap. Laugh. Run. Jump. Play. You know how sometimes you just need peace and quiet from your kids or whoever so you can have a chance to think? Your creative brain needs the same thing. It really wants you to leave it completely alone for a little while and stop nagging it. Then take a deep breath and sit down with fresh eyes and you’ll be ready to resolve any remaining problems.

Finally, let a trusted reader give you feedback. Listen to that feedback but always remember that it’s your creation. Finish it . . . the rest of us are waiting to read it!

Kathryn Erskine is a local author, instructor, and WriterHouse member. Read more about her work at kathyerskine.com.

by Christy Strick

You’ve worked hard on your story, revised it and revised until you can’t look at it anymore. You know it’s not the best it can be, but you feel like it has potential. You decide it’s ready to be work-shopped, and so you take it to your critique group, a bunch of writers you trust. You email it out, then show up with copy in hand, ready to make notes on how to make it better.

The session begins slowly, with everyone reluctant to start. And soon you find out why. They hated it. Not just one, or even two of them, but the whole group. Then, once they do get started, you just wish it would end. The beginning needs to be cut, the final scene is unbelievable, the dialogue is clumsy, the characters cardboard. There may be a few crumbs tossed your way – someone likes the description of the dog in paragraph six – but overall the prevailing opinion is that it is a waste of paper.

If you’ve never had a critique like this, that’s great. But in case you ever do, here are a few suggestions on handling the harsh critique:

1. Shut up and listen. Do not, under any circumstance, get defensive, or try to argue or explain why you wrote what you did. If a reader doesn’t get it, you didn’t do it right, so your intentions are worthless.
2. Take copious notes. You won’t remember everything that was said, because you’ll be too busy fighting back tears.
3. After everyone has spoken, ask for clarification on any comments you didn’t understand.
4. Collect the copies from everyone, and thank them for their careful consideration and time.
5. Set the story aside for a week or two before you pick it up again. Don’t read their notes, and don’t read yours. Just let it sit.
6. When you do read through the comments, make note of recurring themes – bad opening, etc. If every person said the same thing, then you can be pretty sure there is a problem there.
7. On the other hand, trust your instincts. If you really don’t agree with something, ignore it. It’s your story, after all, and you need to tell it the way you think it needs to be told.

Christy Strick’s short fiction has appeared in New South, Pearl Magazine, the Delmarva Review, Forward: A Collection of Flash Fiction, and Prime Number Magazine. She was the recipient of the 2012 Marianne Russo Award from the Key West Literary Seminar, and has been awarded residencies at The Studios of Key West, Virginia Center for the Creative Arts, and Hambidge Center. Christy is a founding member and past president of WriterHouse. She currently lives in Charleston, SC, where she is at work on what she reluctantly calls a novel. You can read more of her thoughts on writing on her blog The Wandering Writer at www.christystrick.com.

by Rachel Unkefer

This summer I’m doing something I never thought I’d do. I’m taking a poetry class. It’s not that I have anything against poetry. I’ve enjoyed readings by great poets at places like the Sewanee Writers’ Conference and count several poets among my friends. I’ve just never been drawn to poetry. I’m a fiction writer and reader.

Recently there have been a few nagging ideas, though, that I haven’t known what to do with. They weren’t enough to base a short story on, even flash fiction. They could have been musings in the head of a character in a novel, but they had too much weight for me to relegate them to such a minor role. And they wouldn’t go away. Looking out my window or walking in my neighborhood triggered them.

Maybe these are poems, I thought, but I don’t know how to write poems. I don’t count the poem-like things I wrote in high school and college, the usual angst-y stuff. I picked up a copy of the text used for a WriterHouse poetry class, The Poet’s Companion by Kim Addonizio and Dorianne Laux. I started to think I could make these things into poems, but then what? How would I know whether they made sense to anyone else? Rose Elliott’s poetry workshop was starting soon. I signed up.

More than one friend pointed out that taking a poetry class might distract me from my novel and other fiction projects. There may be some truth to that, but I have to write about what’s most compelling to me at the moment. And these things were nagging at me. If nothing else, maybe I could get rid of them by writing them into poems and then move on.

I workshopped two poems, which was helpful. Now I need to revise them. It occurs to me that I’ve now added a few poems to my pile of unfinished fiction works. Not to mention those few early drafts of personal essays.

There’s a word for this: dilettante. It doesn’t have positive associations. We’re supposed to pick something and stick with it, not dabble in a variety of art forms or businesses or hobbies. But I’ve always pursued a lot of diverse things at the same time. In addition to my volunteer work for WriterHouse, I prepare tax returns for fun. I’ve been a music impresario, a printed-circuit board designer, and a bookstore owner. I’ve dabbled in languages, genetic genealogy, and choral singing. Might as well add poetry to the list. I don’t happen to believe there’s anything wrong with opening up to as many possibilities as I have time for (or even more than I have time for); I keep learning and meeting new people in the process.

And in the process, I looked up the root of the word dilettante. It comes from the Italian verb dilettare ”to delight.” Perfect.

Rachel Unkefer is a founding member and current president of WriterHouse. Her fiction has appeared in Crab Orchard Review, Prime Number Magazine, and elsewhere. Her own blog languishes at rachelunkefer.com while she writes this guest post.