I walk. I get out of the house and walk wherever my fancy takes me. Usually the endorphins work their magic after a couple hours. If they don’t, I walk a little more to the nearest cinema and forget about my problems for a bit. By the time the film is over, I usually remember it’s ok to have an off day.

I have two (contradictory) ways to deal with any angst I might be experiencing.

One, I run. Just lace up my running shoes, even if it’s the middle of the night due to insomnia, and run. Start slowly, warm up for a few minutes, and then go all-out, come back home completely exhausted. Take a shower, have something to eat and go to sleep physically tired. For me, it has a way of really quieting down nagging thoughts and I wake up feeling better.

Two, reconnect with people that don’t live in your head. Take a few hours, cook dinner together or fire up the grill and get a little perspective. It’s easy to get lost in your head, and work can be a lonely activity sometimes. So socialize and do something with people you love, shut off your smartphone, don’t check email and take some time off from worrying.

Somehow I don’t think you want to hear about my girly bubble baths. Or maybe you do, since they also involve loud music and a gripping book that is nothing like what I’m writing. The ‘nothing like what I’m writing’ part is key. Sometimes you just have to stay one step ahead of the doubt and dive into a different head space. If a book doesn’t engage my mind enough, I then take a day or two off and play a game. Something challenging s I’m not plodding along and killings things in my sleep. Speaking of sleep, a lot of naps don’t really help in the long term, but they help in the immediate sense. I could get out of the house, but the old gray matter is still working on work. I must have my brain engrossed in something else for a little while.

Even with all that, still have to chip away at the stone little by little. Otherwise guilt starts to mingle with doubt and that’s a far worse feeling.

I pack and move all my earthly belongings 500-1,000 miles and tell myself that thing’s will be different when I get to the new place.

I do anything that appeals to monkey-brain easy gratification. Killing things in mindless video games, walking, punching a bag, that sort of thing. Anything that feels good without thought.

@Will: I gotta wonder if moving, like, five miles will do the same thing. Because I tell myself the same thing, and part of me is saying, “Well, it’s just because you’re in transition and this office is Old Office and won’t it be nice to have New Office? Yay!”

@Kate: We have a spa tub in the new house, which is of course less awesome than it sounds (the inspector turned it on and then the jets coughed out a black sheet of Lovecraftian algae). I do like power naps, too. As for a book, I’m reading HOMICIDE, which is different, but it’s also not very… light. It’s dense, thick reading. Excellent reading just the same, but certainly chewy.

@Rick: Thank you for reminding me that I want to get a heavy bag in the new house.

@Manuel: I am not a runner. Knees and back will dick up that dream. But I walk frequently, and it does help (so, thumbs up to that and @Eric’s suggestion).

Thanks, peeps.

Something else that helps (and that I sometimes do after the walk, while waiting for the movie) : I write about my doubts. I just let go and put everything on a screen. Things seem more controllable and less scary when they’re out of my head. I can start thinking about solutions.

Last time, I even turned my rant into a blog post. Double win, so

When I’m feeling the ugly teeth of uncertainty creeping up on me I try to vegetate over TV or a computer game. (old games work best for this. The ones that are actually difficult and challenging and not softened up for the consumption of whinny man-children that gamers of the younger generation have devolved into.)

Failing that, I also find that reading really old blog posts that I’ve written make me forget my uncertainty and push my brain to critique mode as I question why the hell I wrote something, and what I must have been thinking when I did.

Hope this helps!

P.S. WoD: Mirrors is Awesome, btw.

You definitely want to change things up. Don’t open the work for a bit, open up a game instead. Instead of sitting at a desk, stand and walk around. Go someplace you haven’t gone before. Take a trip on a train somewhere. Drive to a different state. Mix a new cocktail.

Some of these things you can mix.

Taking a bit of time away from the project can be good. I find I often get to this point when I’m towards the middle, far away from the excitement of a new project and ideas and yet still not close to the wrapping up energy that can boost you through. Until recently this used to be where I’d get lost and just give up, until I realized it is going to happen every time so I need to just push through.

So, I guess I’m throwing my hat in with the crowd saying take a walk, play a game, watch a movie, and come back to it after that to see what you can get going on it.

Funny. A friend just held a sort of intervention for me at a conference this weekend because I don’t fundamentally believe I’m a particularly good game designer or writer. Neil Gaiman still gets the fear, too; remembering that helps.

Remembering that it’s a byproduct of the process and not something inherent to you helps a lot, too. You dive deep into your subconscious to write, and you’re looking for those shiny pieces of gold ore… but when you smelt it you’ll be left with the mind-slag, all of the things that you think and are afraid of, but that don’t fit into your story. You don’t want it, but you still have to deal with it.

For more specific recommendations: Manuel is spot-on. I go to the gym to sweat the crazy out, running and lifting. Your version might be something else, but for me, the key is to do something so physically taxing that I can’t think about anything besides breathing and good form. Beyond that, very mindfully do things every day that are *not writing.*

I also do the one-minute dance party in my office. Perks of working at home. Try it, you’ll never turn back. ^_^

And in general, when you’re particularly lost in the woods, it might be helpful to just be kind to yourself. Eat your favorite foods, put on your comfiest sweatpants, take a super-long shower, let yourself work a little less hard… think about what you’d tell *somebody else* in your position, and then make with the hundred little kindnesses you’re inclined to deny yourself ordinarily.

And now for something completely different…

The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo uses the word rucksack numerous times. It caught my attention so it must be used infrequent enough to become a novelty.

Maggie and I are planning on moving back to the States in the next year or two, and probably to the Philly area (or a suburb thereof – we have some friends in that region and it would be the perfect halfway point between our respective families) so when we do that, you and I can get some pads and do some boxing.

Bags are great, but there is little better than taking out frustrations with a sparring partner. You ever box?

Sounds like you need a kick in the rucksack.

That’ll take your mind off the book for a bit.

Pain is the cleanser.

I watch baseball or hockey (depending on the season.) . It doesn’t have to be those, just something I’ve enjoyed for as long as I can remember, that I can either become absorbed in, or watch to let the time pass. The point is, it’s something I can do for some guilt free refreshment and entertainment. The hope, usually realized, is that will chill me out and help me to find that happy place where I’ll bump into my Muse.

I like Tome’s idea.

Gotta be honest, I don’t have those “be kind to yourself” solutions usually. At this point in my life, my response to what you’re feeling is usually “put up or shut up.”

That doesn’t mean I don’t give myself breaks. Breaks are good. But at the end of the day you and I (and everyone) have two choices: quit or don’t quit.

Everyone sucks at some point and not just that “your a newb, you’re going to suxor” shit either. Lance Armstrong crashed in the Tour of CA in May then again at the Tour de France. If that motherfucker has bad days at this point in his career, you will too.

So let the suckage happen, take a break, but then sally up and press on.

@Michelle: I’m not really sold on the “do something nice” thing most times — I only like to reward myself for completion. Otherwise it feels like pausing in the middle of the race to accept a trophy I built. So, while I get the suggestion by a few people to “shut it down, play a game,” that I think might actually make me feel worse. Breaks are good. Walks, too. And to be clear, none of this is actually stopping the word-flow. I’m almost at 3k for today, and I sent out another pitch — so, I’m working. I just feel kind of… wayward.

– c.

I hate to admit it, but I’m sort of there myself at the moment. I just finished a few projects and have a couple new ones waiting for attention. All I have to do is sit down and begin. But every time I start toward the desk, my limbs get heavy, my thinking becomes muddled. I can’t remember why I was excited about these stupid ideas in the first place. The good news is that I have had these feelings before so I know that they will eventually go away. In fact, I actually schedule a time for them to end. I write down a date/time/place to start pretending that I’m a writer again. Whether I’m ready or not, I keep the appointment and start hacking away. It seems to work. Plus, it gives me a guilt-free window of time for any wallowing I need to do (and I need a lot).

@Rick:

I have never boxed, no.

Where in the suburbs do your friends live? That’s exciting if you guys move close to here.

– c.

@Andrea:

All good thoughts. I tend to hunker down and try to do more work when I’m metaphorically lost, but we’ll see if that’s the right path or not.

It is good to know that at the least, I’m not alone in terms of other writers having those same bouts of doubt and fuzziness.

– c.

@Paul:

That’s pretty awesome. A self-defined deadline for one’s writerly mopeishness.

Good eye.

And we should get coffee again some day soon. Catch up!

– c.

Wayward…

People evolve constantly in all aspects of their life. Perhaps this is a cue to try something new.

I’m sort of there myself at least once a week. Well, its not a rational thing, its just our brain chemistry evoking bad thoughts. So, I just do something to reset this chemistry, like bullshitting with my friends, exercising into exhaustion (runners high helps) or avoiding any kind of introspection.
I guess that my main issue is excessive introspection: we’re not supposed to understand and criticize every single thoughts we have, we just need to act, that no-mind thing acting the Jedi and Buddhists talk about. I have some happy and productive days when acting in that kind of automatic mode.

I got nothin’ for you. It’s cyclical, at least for me. For a while, you’re king of the fuckin’ world, supremely confident in your gifts, certain that your journey to the sunlit uplands of literary success will be short and direct. And just like that, you’re wallowing in the morass of despair, equally sure that you’re a fraud, a charlatan who has managed to dazzle a few of the right folks for a minute or two with a bit of linquistic legerdemain. Yet the whole time, you’re just you. The journey was never likley to be quick or easy, but the folks you’ve dazzled — agents, fellow writers — they are folks who’ve seen their fair share of presditigiation and know the real thing from a shallow bit of flash. So you suck it up, you tell yourself you have what it takes and you press on. The rest of it — whether you sell, whether someone else does, all of that — it’s out of your hands and subject to the whims of too many arbitrary forces to list. So you say fuck it all anyway, and, depending on where you are in the cycle, you either skip lightly along the sunlit path or you keep hacking your way through the undergrowth. Eyes on the prize boy. Now gird up them loins and go write me sumpin’.

I got nothin’ for you. It’s cyclical, at least for me. For a while, you’re king of the fuckin’ world, supremely confident in your gifts, certain that your journey to the sunlit uplands of literary success will be short and direct. And just like that, you’re wallowing in the morass of despair, equally sure that you’re a fraud, a charlatan who has managed to dazzle a few of the right folks for a minute or two with a bit of linquistic legerdemain. Yet the whole time, you’re just you. The journey was never likley to be quick or easy, but the folks you’ve dazzled — agents, fellow writers — they are folks who’ve seen their fair share of presditigiation and know the real thing from a shallow bit of flash. So you suck it up, you tell yourself you have what it takes and you press on. The rest of it — whether you sell, whether someone else does, all of that — it’s out of your hands and subject to the whims of too many arbitrary forces to list. So you say fuck it all anyway, and, depending on where you are in the cycle, you either skip lightly along the sunlit path or you keep hacking your way through the undergrowth. Eyes on the prize boy. Now gird up them loins and go write me sumpin’.

Dan, I like that. Thanks.

– c.

@R –

A Zen no-mind thing is a good place to be. I have a lot of trouble getting to no mind, though. My head is full of mind. Noisy, hornet buzzing mind.

– c.

I don’t know exactly, and I only know a few people. My buddy Ian Jacobs specifically and a few I met through him. He used to live in the city itself, but last I heard had moved out to the smaller communities, because even punks get married sometimes.

Saw this today, and it seems a bit too spot on too pass up.

And me? I eat. That’s worked out badly.

-Rob D.

Bah, stupid HTML-cleaning. This: http://www.viruscomix.com/page523.html

This is why writers drink.

Personally, I try to find someone to talk to (Michelle usually gets this duty). Talking about my project gets it out of my head, and helps me put it into perspective.

@Eddy: Yep, that’s probably true. Drinky drink drinkity drink!

@Rob: Heh.

– c.

Depends. Short on ideas? Take a walk. Need insulation from too many rejections in one day? Steven Brust, that is, rereading beloved novels. “See? It CAN work.”

Heck, I don’t even have a proper tub. It doesn’t stop me. You just have to find your one little slice of bliss before throwing yourself back in the pit. Mental armor more than break or reward.

Though, looking through these, I’m going to go with Dan’s approach. I might print that sucker out and tape to my desk even.

It just so happens I keep that Neil Gaiman letter within reach. Since you said it helps to not feel alone–here it is.

—————————————————————————————
Dear NaNoWriMo Author,

By now you’re probably ready to give up. You’re past that first fine furious rapture when every character and idea is new and entertaining. You’re not yet at the momentous downhill slide to the end, when words and images tumble out of your head sometimes faster than you can get them down on paper. You’re in the middle, a little past the half-way point. The glamour has faded, the magic has gone, your back hurts from all the typing, your family, friends and random email acquaintances have gone from being encouraging or at least accepting to now complaining that they never see you any more—and that even when they do you’re preoccupied and no fun. You don’t know why you started your novel, you no longer remember why you imagined that anyone would want to read it, and you’re pretty sure that even if you finish it it won’t have been worth the time or energy and every time you stop long enough to compare it to the thing that you had in your head when you began—a glittering, brilliant, wonderful novel, in which every word spits fire and burns, a book as good or better than the best book you ever read—it falls so painfully short that you’re pretty sure that it would be a mercy simply to delete the whole thing.

Welcome to the club.

That’s how novels get written.

You write. That’s the hard bit that nobody sees. You write on the good days and you write on the lousy days. Like a shark, you have to keep moving forward or you die. Writing may or may not be your salvation; it might or might not be your destiny. But that does not matter. What matters right now are the words, one after another. Find the next word. Write it down. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.

A dry-stone wall is a lovely thing when you see it bordering a field in the middle of nowhere but becomes more impressive when you realise that it was built without mortar, that the builder needed to choose each interloc king stone and fit it in. Writing is like building a wall. It’s a continual search for the word that will fit in the text, in your mind, on the page. Plot and character and metaphor and style, all these become secondary to the words. The wall-builder erects her wall one rock at a time until she reaches the far end of the field. If she doesn’t build it it won’t be there. So she looks down at her pile of rocks, picks the one that looks like it will best suit her purpose, and puts it in.

The search for the word gets no easier but nobody else is going to write your novel for you.

The last novel I wrote (it was ANANSI BOYS, in case you were wondering) when I got three-quarters of the way through I called my agent. I told her how stupid I felt writing something no-one would ever want to read, how thin the characters were, how pointless the plot. I strongly suggested that I was ready to abandon this book and write something else instead, or perhaps I could abandon the book and take up a new life as a landscape gardener, bank-robber, short-order cook or marine biologist. And instead of sympathising or agreeing with me, or blasting me forward with a wave of enthusiasm—or even arguing with me—she simply said, suspiciously cheerfully, “Oh, you’re at that part of the book, are you?”

I was shocked. “You mean I’ve done this before?”

“You don’t remember?”

“Not really.”

“Oh yes,” she said. “You do this every time you write a novel. But so do all my other clients.”

I didn’t even get to feel unique in my despair.

So I put down the phone and drove down to the coffee house in which I was writing the book, filled my pen and carried on writing.

One word after another.

That’s the only way that novels get written and, short of elves coming in the night and turning your jumbled notes in to Chapter Nine, it’s the only way to do it.

So keep on keeping on. Write another word and then another.

Pretty soon you’ll be on the downward slide, and it’s not impossible that soon you’ll be at the end. Good luck…

Neil Gaiman

Just got back from *there* after three weeks of “why don’t you get a real fucking job!!!” Then…got up yesterday and just started writing again….so I guess for me…breaks work.

@Dan…thats what I did, sat down and had a little talk with meeeself…”self” I said…”who cares if it’s good, what ever, you want to do this…quit your crying…just go and write it, then throw it away if its shite!!”

The great Stephen Fry once said that the greatest writers find writing harder to do that “normal” people. Perhaps finding it hard is a good thing.

KD beat me to pulling out Gaiman’s letter, and unfortunately I don’t have a whole lot to add, since I seem to be in one of those spots as well (and I’m not even currently writing, just thinking far too much about upcoming writing and trying to sort out plot and endings and all the other little things that will help me not want to jump off a cliff come NaNo-time).

As you said somewhere up above: So, while I get the suggestion by a few people to “shut it down, play a game,” that I think might actually make me feel worse.

That’s me. I play the guilt card all the time, and the really self-defeating thing is that in doing so, I consequently feel worse, and want to write/plot/develop even less. It ultimately leads to a point where I do shut down, but not of my own accord. And then I require a solid whack across the knees to wake me up and a good friend (or two, or five) to shake me until the wheels start rolling again and forward motion occurs. If anyone finds a more efficient system, do tell.

Sometimes it’s as simple as changing whatever music I’m listening to. Sometimes I have to get out of the apartment- drive, swim, or hike. Cooking helps, too, but that could just be the Italian in me.

i just rest in the knowledge that i am awesome.

(i wish)

You all are excellent people. Believe it or not, a solid day of writing paired with these great responses has put me back on the mental mend around the bend.

Thanks, kind folks.

And that Gaiman letter, which pops up now and again, is as good as gold.

– c.

Hi Chuck,

It might be too late now, and you’re (hopefully) beyond the darkest wood, but here’s something anyway. When I’m really in a funk, I’ll sometimes do menial things like scrub my sink until it sparkles. I think it’s a control issue or something. I may feel like shit about the stuff I’m writing, but I can make my sink shine, dammit. Look at the gleam. Look at my miserable reflection in the flawless finish.

My sink is really clean right now. Alas.

Amy