The Chapter of Doom

Every manuscript has a Chapter of Doom. That point where you know what needs to happen, but the Muses are telling you to royally fuck yourself, as they’re packing up and going on vacation. If you’re lucky, they might be back.

Might.

There are a great many reasons for your Muse to get the grump. For me, it’s often caused by characters having a rigid outline, and no freedom. They have to get from HERE to THERE and do THIS on the way, and they just don’t want to co-operate. Muses can also be affected by a whole host of familiar greeblies, those damnable chittering imps that plague us all: anxiety, apathy, anger. The crushing loss of self-belief. The fatal move that’s comparing your work or success with others round you. Often something as simple as time or constant interruption, just not letting you build up a flow.

Whatever your particular critter, tho’, there are ways of sorting them out.

One: don’t do the comparison thing. Just don’t. Other people’s journeys are their own, and I’ll wager any amount of monies, that no matter how successful they may be, they get the exact same monsters as the rest of us. And while you’re at it, don’t read your reviews. While the big ones may lift you sky-high, it’s all too easy to come crashing the fuck back down again. And it can be hard to get up.

Two: trick your brain. Read your work aloud, if you haven’t already. Changing font, no kidding, fools your mind into reading the words as new. Change the character perspective, or the setting, or the weather.

Three: write something else. Keep a journal, start a newsletter, write extract scenes or character vignettes to get stuff focused in your head, or jump forwards through your outline and just write something else. You’ll catch yourself up eventually.

Four: if none of that’s working, take a break. Whatever Douglas Adams said about head-butting your keyboard, make an executive decision to stop tormenting yourself, and to step away. I tend to walk, as it clears my head and lets my characters move for themselves, but you could do the housework (no, really) or make some tea. Play a game, have a bath, and go back to it when you’re ready.

Five: get some fuel. Sometimes, your tank just runs dry, and you need new fuel. Read a book, read an old or comfort book. Draw a map, or find pictures of your characters and settings to make a mood board. I’ve said this before, but Pinterest is your friend, seriously.

Six: get some outside help. Link up with others to brainstorm, to do ‘writer dashes’ and daily wordcounts. Read each other’s work and set each other deadlines. Role-playing can help, because it’s easy, creative input, as above. Find writing-groups on the Socials, because Gods know, there are enough of us.

Most importantly, remember that we all feel like this. Every writer gets stuck, every writer hates their own work at times, and, sooner or later, we all drag ourselves over broken glass trying to make it make sense. Just keep in mind: it’s not you, it’s just those damned words, and it will be okay. Your Muse will be back, refreshed from their vacation.

You got this.

Reading: About to start The Cats We Meet Along The Way by Nadia Mikail, a Waterstones Children’s Book Prize overall winner and a previous Book of the Month. Not sure what to expect, but its laurels are pretty impressive.

Watching: Rebel Moon. Dear Gods. Won’t be doing that again.

Playing: Not much, at the moment. No idea how to follow Baldur’s Gate, and don’t want to re-start the game until I’ve got some more words down. We do have the final instalment of our D&D Sigil campaign in a couple of weeks, tho’, seeing if our intrepid band of misfits can defeat the Iron Shadow.

Probably, if they have enough +5 snacks.