Blast Writer's Block

There is only one way to actually break writier's block. Write. Take an active role in getting past whatever is blocking your prose. Instead of binging on Netflix and chips try one of these ideas to get wake up your muse.

Snoop

We all have looked in someone else’s medicine cabinet, so why not your main character?  Write about what they find in there. It could be mundane everyday stuff, something tawdry, or a hidden secret.

It doesn’t have to be a medicine cabinet. He/she can look in a drawer or the glove box in a car. Just open something up and take a long gander at what’s inside. You’ll be quite surprised at what he or another character is keeping stashed away. Somewhere hidden in the back of the junk drawer of your character’s boss’ desk is what will get you back on track with your manuscript.

Loser

A lost object is another way to trick the muse into walking around that block. While searching for lost keys, phone, cigar clipper, or the hamster that escaped his cage you can find all sorts of things to fluff your plot. Use it to explore a bit more of your character’s personality, or, that of another character helping in the search.

Disasters

All else fails have disaster strike. It’s amazing how much a lightning strike or freak tornado ripping across the front lawn can get the creative juices flowing again.  In real life these things can come out of no where so why not use a cyclone to drop a house on your block.

New View

Open a new document and pick any character but your hero/heroine. A background character such as the guy in the parking garage, the waitress with the great smile, someone who is mentioned but really isn’t a player in your story.

Now take that person and write a page about them. What where they doing before meeting your MC? Do they have a cat or is she slinging hash until she’s discovered as the next Marilyn Monroe? Once you’ve gotten a few paragraphs or a page you can go back to your WIP, you’ll find your muse is now ready to take off again.

Writer’s block can feel as though a huge wall in front of our muse. Looking up, it seems impossible to get over that wall. Put your fingers on the keyboard and write until that wall crumbles.  When it does the sun will shine, the forest animals will surround your desk in song…. Okay, not really but you will be celebrating with your muse as the story picks up speed again.

Do you have any tips or tricks to break a writer's block? Share it in the comments section below!

This blog was written during April during the A to Z Blogging Challenge. The challenge is to post a blog daily, Monday through Saturday. Each post begins with a letter of the alphabet. Want to know more click on the logo below and find other great blogs to read/follow!

Internet Connections

Remember the days when the only way to get on line was to use a dial up service. There were only maybe two companies to choose from at the time. And look at us now.

Businesses that operate only in this cyber world. Places like Facebook and message boards for us to connect with people around the globe. The internet has lengthened our reach to beyond our imaginations.

It was in November of 2007 I made a very important connection. I met my best friend and Sister in Heart Rose. We’ve never met face to face but we talk every day by the magic of the internet.

When it behaves that is. Technology is still fickle when it comes to keeping a signal though a thunder storm or the power goes out. (that latter happens way to often at my house, when you live in the woods you sit in the dark.. a lot)  But rarely do we miss a time to chat.

Rose is one of the sweetest most generous people I know. She’s been there for me in the darkest of hours. Even though we have lived an entire country apart. She lived in Washington and I live in Florida. Now we’re just a few states apart, her hubby is a military man stationed in Virginia.  

We found so much in common and things that gave us a bond into sisterhood.  Our love for all things Russell Crowe was a big bonding point of course ;) Being moms of two boys the same age that I think were one boy split in some kind of  Star Trek transporter accident. And lastly a love of writing. We started writing together on the fan fiction board where we met. Then created our own board, then grew from there. 

We write every day together. Sometimes serious, sometimes just for kicks. Rose is a talented writer. I always look forward to her next work. She has a gift for capturing the emotion of the moment in prose.

One of the best things about our friendship is the honesty we have. We can tell each other something stinks or just isn't quite right. Or in my case Rose reminds me of all the grammatical taboos. I'm sure I've given her a few gray hairs at the expense of my tense switching alone. But I am more than happy to hear her say uh... you did it again, instead of a yeah that's great when it's really not. 

It’s a wonderful feeling to have someone you know you can trust so completely. Someone who doesn’t judge, who will encourage. I hope I do the same for her. The last couple of years have been really hard on my side of life. If it weren’t for Rose. I’m not so sure I could make it though. Thank God for those internet connections.

Everyone should have a close friend but having that friendship grow into something more like family is even better. So this post is a tribute to my bestest friend, my writing partner, and Sister in Heart, Rose Wade.  

Part of the A to Z Challenge... I    To find Rose's posts for A to Z and more go here  Outlaw's pRose

Hungry

A deep rumble woke Ben. He sat up and looked around the loft of the stable thinking he’d been caught by old man McKeen.

The rumble came again only louder. It wasn’t the old geezer tossing him out, it was Ben’s stomach. Four days, it was four days ago his mama had left him at the station.

She left him behind, telling him to sit and wait. She would be right back with the tickets. They’d go to Virginia to live with his aunt. Mama never came back from the ticket booth. Her carpetbag was gone. All Ben had was his small pack and the Bible she gave him.

Dawn was breaking. He needed to get out before the old man really did catch him. Quietly Ben made his way to the street and around the backs of the buildings. Maybe he could find a scrap of something. Anything he was so hungry.

His insides felt like they were shriveling up as he stopped at the rain barrel by the inn. Cupping his hands he took a few long drinks to try and fill the void.

As he splashed water on his face a scent drifted down the alleyway. Ben’s stomach clenched with hunger as the scent filled his nostrils with one of his favorite things in the world.

Fresh baked bread was somewhere close, very close. He sniffed at the air and turned down the alley. He followed the smell, stomach growling loud enough to make the stray dog napping in the shade raise his head.

Ben stopped at the window there they were. Three fresh baked loaves of bread. The steam was still rising off the tops. His tongue licked along his bottom lip as he took a step forward to get a deeper breath of it.

Something hit him on the back. Mr.Grove the owner of the inn shook the broom he’d just walloped Ben with. “Get, you urchin. Take your filthy self back to the gutters.”

Didn’t he recognize him? His mama had done some work at the in. “Mr. Grove, sir… “

Before Ben could finish the broom was raised again. He raised his little skinny arms and ran back down the alley.

The innkeeper satisfied the boy was gone went back to sweeping the stoop.

Ben sat behind a barrel and rubbed his lower back. He could still smell the bread. It made his mouth water. If he didn’t eat something soon he’d turn to dust and blow away.

He tried to drink some more water to fill his gut, but, that only made his stomach groan and ache worse. The bread smelled so good.

He could feel it in his hands warm with a crispy crust and soft fluffy inside. It would melt in his mouth as he took a bite. 

The sound of the inn’s back door closing made him open his eyes. Mr. Grove had gone back inside. There wasn’t anyone in the alley.

He crawled on his hands and knees to sit under the window so he could smell the bread. His belly ached to the point of tears now. Ben was so hungry. He could take it. There were two more loaves. They surely wouldn’t miss one.

No, he couldn’t take it. He didn’t have no money and stealing was a sin. Ben’s mama always told him to be good. Be a good boy and grow into a good man. He couldn’t do that if he stole. That would make him bad.

Lifting his face up he could feel the warmth from the fresh loaves. If he didn’t eat soon he wouldn’t make it past the age of eight to become any kind of man.

Stomach tight with hunger Ben raised his arms up and grabbed the edge of the cheesecloth. Slowly he pulled it toward him.

Mrs. Grove called out to her husband startling Ben. He jerked his arms back and hugged his knees waiting for the innkeeper to come back with the broom. Nothing happened.  Mrs. Grove went back to humming.

Sitting there had become torture, he didn’t want to make his mama angry. What if she came back and found him with the stolen bread. She’d have his hide for sure.

Ben looked up at the loaf. It had been four days since he saw his mama last at the station. She wasn’t coming back, no one was going to help him. He had to help himself.

He stood stomach aching and growling as his breath panted with fear and excitement. Before he could change his mind again Ben reached out and grabbed a loaf of bread. He took off running as fast as he could behind the buildings.

Turning a corner he ran to the ladder of the livery loft and climbed up. Hiding behind a stack of hay bales he hugged the loaf to his chest. It was still warm and smelled so good. He was panting still from his run. Waiting for someone to catch him.

When there were no shouts he began to relax and looked down at the bread. Ben licked his lips as his fingers dug into the crust and it apart. Steam flowed out as he pulled a hunk of the soft white fluff into his mouth.

Tears rolled down his face as he ate. His belly hurt from not having anything this solid in so long then it started to feel full. That feeling was the best thing he’d ever felt. He wasn’t a good boy anymore. Maybe he wouldn’t be a good man but he wouldn’t be hungry again. 

Part of the A to Z Blog Challenge ... H 

  

Gun

There it was resting on the table next to the morning paper. It was real, not a toy, the real deal. She picked it up in an awkward grip. It was heavier than she thought it would be.

Her fingers shifted over the grip pressing a button. The clip hit the table with a clunk startling her.

The gun fell from her hands making a louder sound as she pushed her chair back. She stood to quickly back away. Her back hit the kitchen counter making her jump again.

Hands covered her face she took a long breath. She couldn’t do this, she wasn’t like him. Her throat had gone dry and aching. She tried not to look at the object on the table as she moved to the sink a bit shaky as she filled a glass. 

As she drank the cool water her eyes fell on her refection in the shiny steel of the toaster. The image was slightly distorted with the curves of the appliance, but, the black eye and swollen split lip were plain enough to see.

It wasn’t a choice anymore. She had to. Moving back to the table she sat down in the chair and looked at the thing lying there.

With a sigh she picked up the small box next to it and read the print. “.44 magnum ammunition, features 240grn lead core copper semi-jacketed hollow point bullet. Brass case and non-corrosive boxer primer. Well that’s good. Wouldn’t want it to rust after embedding in his brain after all.”

Bruised fingers opened the box and slid out the tray of shiny projectiles. They didn’t seem so dangerous stacked neatly in rows.

Cautiously she plucked a bullet from its nest. Gently she tried to press it into the clip as the man at the gun shop had showed her. The bullet popped out from between her fingers, bounced across the table top, over the edge to hit the floor.

She gasped waiting for a minor explosion. After a moment nothing happened so she walked around the table and picked up the brass cased explosive. A nervous laugh fell from her lips. Dropping it wasn’t going to make it explode. It had to be fired. Only the pin striking the exact spot at the precise moment would make it go off. 

With a calming breath she sat back down and began to press the bullets into the clip. Each one sliding home gave her a bit more confidence. She was in control, maybe for the first time in a long time.

The clip was now full. She picked up the gun by the grip making sure the safety switch was on like she had read in the book. The clip went easily back inside with a click.

Her hand closed over the top and pulled back putting a round in the chamber and readying the weapon to fire.

She set the weapon back down on the table and looked down at it. Her mother had always told her these were things of destruction and death. Now she sees it as something completely different. Looking at the cold steel she all she can see is freedom.

Part of the A to Z blog Challenge for the letter G.