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Avoid The Trial of Writer’s Block

chop away at the writer’s block

(image)

An ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure (even in metric).

I experienced over two month’s of writer’s block many years ago. I did, literally, sit at my desk for hours, and can to this day accurately describe that desk. Its vision is before/behind my eyes as I key. It had a red leather surface, boarded in black. It was of thick mahogany with drawers. It faced the wall not far from the door to the room. I have placed it in one of my novels.

To not have this debilitating situation happen again, I have devised a scheme that I find is 90% successful in combating writer’s block.

Do not finish your thought on page or screen. Make sure it is solidly in your mind (make notes if necessary) but do not write it down.

If it’s a description – don’t finish it.

If it’s dialogue – don’t complete it.

If it’s a line of poetry – don’t end it.

The next day, start off with the phrase you would have ended with yesterday. Read the preceding page or two, and when you enter the phrase not completed, the odds are excellent you will continue on your way.

DE

Kafka To The Day: Writing His Diary

(page from *real* Kafka diary)

One of the most  startling situations regarding Kafka and my (re)construction of his *missing* diary occurred when I had been working on the manuscript a couple of months.

I initially (of course) had the hope of literally writing a diary entry a day. Not only did my real life intervene, but some of the constructed diary entries took days to write. Also, there were times when many of my diary entries were but a few lines long. Thus, I might do a number in a day of writing.

In one instance, as I was checking Kafka’s real diaries, I noted one of his entries had the exact date as the day I was reading it. That is, if he was filling in  a diary entry on Friday, 19 October (for I forget the exact day I realized this), I was reading it on Friday, 19 October. I looked at a perpetual calendar, and not only was the year in which I was writing an exact numerical year to his, so was the following year. 

As a result, I believe my novel took on a more authentic flavour. When I put my pen to paper on the 14th of March, it was also a Wednesday in 1917.  

DE

(image)  http://swc2.hccs.edu/htmls/rowhtml/kafka/Diaries.GIF

Not Ready for Prime Time Characters / Spear Carriers

My onion novel, CHINA LILY, spans decades. My main family, the Cannaras, travel the globe (of their time, which is the Fourteen hundreds). Lots of time on ships. Lots of time on horseback.

In their distant locations, over their diverse times, they meet different people. These people fill the chapters they are in, but then they are gone. They are really secondary characters to the novel, but nothing could be accomplished without them. In their own time frame, they are front-and-center.

This same situation happened in my *thriller*. The time frame was much different (squeezed into a few days). And the location was in the same city, until near the end. But the nature of the immediacy, the surprising twists of plot, and the intense action called upon the use of many secondary characters. They were figuratively press-ganged into action. They did their bit and were not called upon again. Louie-the-dog was to be a secondary character with a ‘walk on’ part. He stayed.

 I am having a growing fascination for these secondary characters. They have to be developed within paragraphs instead of chapters. Their dialogue and thoughts have to be concise and unique from the start. They possess a freedom of action the main characters do not have. They are not loaded down with baggage. They are a challenge to write and difficult to rein in. They are generally saucy, and rarely ponder their lot. Yet they must be real and not just plot devices. They have to be taken at face value and accepted quickly. They must stand out in the background.

Secondary characters are a challenge to write and a thrill to create. Each and every one of them excite me.

Hmmmm …  a novel of only secondary characters  … hmmmm…

DE

“Fifth Business” by Robertson Davis

Perhaps my creative stream is bubbling away

I did not plan a New Year resolution. What I had planned was to write something on my current novel the first day of the new year.

This is also not planned, but – so far – I have written every day of the year except two – one a travel day, and one a deliberate ‘take-a-day-off-day’. I am two or three chapters from the end of thisThriller. I have not written fiction so steadily for months. I hope it keeps on.

This is the part which I do nor know is related to my writing situation.

I have never dreamt about any of my writing – never. I know many artists dream about their work, get ideas about their work in dreams and such, but not me. So, I did not have a dream about my writing. However, I recently awoke from a dream where I was talking to my publisher. She said I should do another book of short stories about the Elephant. Is that close?

And, finally, the incident below. On Twitter, I came across an announcement of a restaurant/bakery in Calgary. The Corbeaux. This means The Ravens. They have a store sign which has noted similarities to one which I have described in a manuscript. And you can see their sign in this photo.

https://fbexternal-a.akamaihd.net/safe_image.php?d=AQCKukhRj63heHlL&w=470&h=246&url=http%3A%2F%2Ftoquesandtruffles.files.wordpress.com%2F2014%2F12%2Fimg_8531.jpg%3Fw%3D1200&cfs=1&upscale=1

And then you can read what appears in my unpublished second Satan novel, where ravens play an important part.

Perhaps my creative stream is bubbling away.

From Places Of Evil

Mr. S. does rehearse what he plans to say to Breeze, both while he waits for the taxi, and then in the twenty minute ride to her restaurant. He is surprised Dorkas and Caleb made as such little protest. He suspects they agree with his concerns about the twins, even if not enthusiastic with his solution.

Mr. S. has the taxi stop a couple of blocks from the restaurant. Breeze has installed a new sign, and she wants his opinion of how effective it will be attracting customers. Although he helped – at her insistence – to choose the design, he has yet to see the finished object.


He walks along the street, pretending to be someone looking in shop windows for a gift. He actually wants to purchase Breeze a celebratory present, but that is for later. He tricks himself enough, that when he finally does look up at the sign, it is with a degree of surprise.

Breeze has not purchased a painted sign, as he had supposed. The design is similar to the ones they discussed, but she has not chosen an image imposed upon a wooden background. Instead, there are carved and painted shapes jutting from the front of the building, parallel to the wall.

A thick piece of wood, chiseled into the shape of a tree top, is attached over the lintel. Two branches sprout from the trunk of the tree, which tapers to an uneven and jagged tip. At the very top, a life-sized carved raven sits, its head tilted up. On each of the protruding branches sits another raven, their bills open as they look at each other.

Nailed to the bottom of the tree, a metal chain hangs to the door, holding a wooden sign printed in Old German script. It announces the name of the restaurant: The Hungry Ravens.

“As black as black can be.”

Mr. S. hums as he walks across the narrow street. He has reservations about her sense of humour, with this reference to the ravens. Their unfathomable connection to the work of the Organization, and their role of `familiar’ to Satan’s intentions, are beyond – in his opinion – the wryest of humours.


As he steps toward the front door, he notices a more subtle change. Breeze has sand-blasted the brickwork facing the street. The dark red hue enhances the outline of the tree and its occupants. They look as if they are silhouetted against a sunset.

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