Mental Gymnastics Conquer the Block

So, I don't know how it is for other writers out there, but when i'm working on a story, I become so focused on the process of creating, that when I hit a roadblock which I find problematic to navigate around, it can become extremely frustrating. I want to keep going. I want the problem to dissolve so I can continue forging the path ahead on this journey I began, but I'm stuck precisely where I am.

Hello friends! Welcome to writer's block!

And this doesn't just apply to works in progress either, oh no-no-no. This cheeky little hobgoblin has been known to throw up walls barricading the entire creative process! There's nothing quite so aggravating as having a great idea...and that's where it stops because you haven't the first clue where to begin developing it. Now, if you find yourself in this position, before you start hitting your head against this mental barrier, I want to share a trick I learned.

Do some mental gymnastics.

What do I mean by this? Instead of wracking your brain and pounding your psyche against this immovable barrier in the hopes you'll break through--which will only result in deeper frustration for the time being by the way--I want you to turn your attention away and write something else entirely. This can be accomplished in a number of ways, and there is no one size fits all. Maybe you jot down a short story, or spend a week keeping a journal of every random thought that comes into your head. Maybe you outline a day in your life as a television skit. The point is to write something other than what you're struggling with at present, preferably in a way that runs counter to your norm.

Personally, I found an exercise in guided writing to not only be useful, but also a fun challenge. During my jaunts across the internet in search of useful things, I ran across a website for Level 4 Press, an indie publisher specializing in books which would translate well on screen. Their website includes a "Write for Us" section, so naturally I was curious. They are closed to submissions, however you can still enter your email address and the genre category you prefer and you will be given an abridged story outline with prompts and instructions to write a sample of your own imagining while still including key points. It was an interesting hop into a completely different storyline from what I was working on, and the diversion helped me realize that, yes, despite the insidious self-doubt caused by my block, I could indeed still write. I'll include the sample I came up with first, then some specifics on the expectations and my thought processes to work through it.

The scorching heat of the afternoon sun overhead felt almost desert-like in its intensity, and the cobbled streets of the city shimmered in the haze. The sweat beading Casey's forehead trickled down his face and he wiped at it absently, pausing in the relative shelter of an alleyway where the buildings were too close to allow the sunlight penetration to the ground.

The stubble he felt on his chin bore testament to the time elapsed since his last shave. How long has it been, anyway? Melanie disappeared three days after Cassie-- He abruptly checked his thoughts. After we buried Cassie. Two days of frantic phone calls to relatives, friends, even coworkers; anywhere she might be staying. Anyone who might have seen her or known her whereabouts. Then another three days futilely tracking her movements through clues gleaned through his phone calls, no matter how arbitrary they'd seemed at the time.

The cemetery was where he found the portal. That place where all the lost hope an anguish for departed loves ones resides, especially those taken from the world too soon, as their daughter had been. All that pain and sorrow, manifest into a gateway. Until recently, Casey would never have considered it possible. Yet here he stood. This strange world known as Leeland. Melanie's been missing for eleven days, he determined after calculating how many days he'd been here himself.

"Sharbek's tavern is kind of seedy, but the food is cheap and hasn't killed anyone...not yet at any rate." The words disrupted Casey's reverie and he looked up at the swarthy face towering above his own. Despite travelling together for several days, Belal was still an enigma. His eleven foot height and muscular build looked impressive enough, practically dwarfing Casey's own six-foot frame. The long pointed ears tufted with hair and the cat-like stripes running diagonally from his cheek bones down his jaw gave the beastfolk a fierce quality but Casey was fast learning that appearances were not always what they seemed in Leeland.

His feet ached after traipsing throughout the city all day in search of his missing wife. Now their limited money situation was forcing them to run the risk of food poisoning. "Great," he muttered to himself. Heaving a weary sigh, he lurched forward to follow Belal. Several blocks further on, the beastfolk turned toward a shabby, weather-worn building in bad need of paint. A hanging shingle outside the door displayed a leering demonic face proffering the viewer a tankard of grog. The single name "Sharbek's" was printed sloppily below the grotesque image.

The interior was so packed with people trying to escape the heat outside that ultimately it wasn't much cooler inside. The mingled reek of body funk and stale pipe smoke assailed his nostrils. Casey heaved another frustrated sigh. "I'll get us something to drink," Balal offered and made his way over to the bar, leaving Casey standing by the door. His eyes roamed over the throng.

He could see why Belal had used the word "seedy" in description of the place. The rowdy, drunken faces around him were unkempt. A table near the left wall was occupied by dark elves, who appeared to be holding an exclusive and hushed conference amongst each other. He spotted an empty table in a far corner and began pushing his way toward it.

"You look as though you're searching for something. I can help you." A man stepped in front of him, blocking his path. If man he could be called. The creature standing before him was a head shorter than he and possessed an incongruous facial structure with a grayish pallor. The nose was too long; the eyes close-set and beady. His torn ears protruded in a bat-like fashion and one tooth protruded past his lower lip.

"No thanks," Casey responded, attempting to step around. The other quickly moved to intercept him.

"I have here a rare enchanted dagger; an ancient relic from the faerie realm that has the power to lead its owner to whatever they seek! You look for riches? This dagger will lead you to wealth galore! Looking for vengeance upon an enemy? This dagger will lead you right to them!"

Casey sized up the man's shabby appearance and tattered clothing. If the "magic" dagger could do what this guy claimed, he'd eat his own shirt. "Wasn't born yesterday," he replied. "Now either get out of my way, or that dagger goes where the sun don't shine." The strange man looked against and stepped aside. Casey huffed in disgust.

His eyes warily continued scanning the crowd. A glimmer of light from the shadows drew his attention. A figure sat in the darkness there, observing him, the luminescence he noticed shone from his watcher's eyes like a cat's. The hood of the stranger's forest green cloak was up but judging by frame, Casey was fairly certain it was a woman.

Before he could ruminate on this any further, a boisterous cheer erupted from off to his right. He looked over to where a sizable group was gathered around one of the tables. A hearty-looking man with dark hair sat across from a blonde woman in a scarlet tunic, preparing to arm wrestle. "No way you beat me!" the man proclaimed. The woman laughed and a jolt went down Casey's spine. He knew that laugh, though he thought at times he would never hear it again. He craned his neck to peer around the gathered revelers and his eyes widened in shock. Her hair was uncharacteristically tied back, and her face was smudged with dirt. A quiver of deadly-looking arrows was strapped across her shoulders and Casey wondered when her tunic had last been washed. But there was no mistaking her. Melanie!

"Put your money where your mouth is!" she challenged her opponent. "I've got three silver ducats that say I win!"

"Easy money!" the man chortled. "You hold this, Chester," he said, passing the sum to a rotund and ruddy man standing beside Melanie.

"Prepare for a good fight," he advised with a wink. Melanie drained a nearby tankard of ale. The contestants clasped hands, elbows on the table.

"Three...two...one!" their impromptu referee counted down. The two struggled for only a moment. Then Melanie smirked and in a flash pinned her opponent's hand to the table. The crowd assembled gave another riotous cheer.

"How did you do that?" her opponent sputtered.

"Imagine what she does behind closed doors for her arm to be so strong!" her companion joked with a lascivious wink. The crowd roared with laughter.

"Well how 'bout a consolation prize?" Melanie's opponent joined in. She laughed flirtatiously, her eyes dancing then leaned in and gave the man a kiss. The crowd hooted.

The hell...? Casey was dumbfounded. It was Melanie alright, but this jubilant, carousing woman was vastly different from the Melanie who'd recently lost her only child. Casey pushed through the crowd until he stood just behind her. "Melanie!" he exclaimed, putting a hand on her shoulder.

For all his training in the Marines, he was completely unprepared for what came next. Melanie grabbed his hand and twisted it, throwing him to the floor. Faster than he could follow, he suddenly found himself staring at the tips of two arrows, one aimed at each of his eyes. Up close he saw they were tipped in silver and beautifully worked. He looked up at her breathlessly.

"Who are you? Why did you sneak up on me? Speak, assassin!"

"Melanie...it's me....Casey," he faltered.

"I don't know any Casey," she retorted. "Now what do you want?"

Casey's mind raced. Why is she acting like this? "To bring you home," he answered.

"Lot's of men want to bring her home," Chester joked. Casey threw him a dirty look.

"That's not what I meant!" he snapped.

"Watch your tone, assassin!" Melanie warned.

"Look, I've been searching for you since you disappeared several days ago. I'm not an assassin, I'm your husband!"

Melanie let forth a peal of laughter. I think you're sorely mistaken. I've been in Leeland for ten years now and I certainly have never designed to be married. Besides, my name is Maura, not Melanie, though you can call me Silver, like the metal that's about to pierce your delusional skull!" She and Chester laughed, though the sound was mirthless. Maura was dead serious.

Just then, Belal approached with drinks. "Hey, please don't hurt my friend. He makes me feel less small!" Maura eyed the beastfolk suspiciously. "Please," Belal continued. "We've been searching this city for days for his missing wife. We go here," he pantomimed trekking to his right, trotting in place then turned to his left to "trot" that way. "We go there. Always looking." He put a hand above his eyes in a searching gesture, momentarily forgetting the flagon of ale he still held. Some of the liquid sloshed on his brow. "You see, we are sweaty and tired," he continued, pretending the beer was sweat. "I fear he's become delirious with exhaustion and in his desperation he mistook you for his wife."

Chester and Maura exchanged glances then burst out laughing, unable to resist the humor of Belal's antics. She put her arrows back in their quiver. "Good luck with that," she said, turning back to the man she'd beaten in arm wrestling. "What do you say we get out of here and find ourselves a good time?" she asked suggestively. Casey saw red.

"What the hell?" he exclaimed, starting to rise. You can't seriously--" Maura swiftly clamped a booted foot against his throat, keeping him pinned to the floor.

"You sure about that?" she demanded with a wicked glint in her eyes.

What I was given in order to write this scene were the names of the characters, along with a short bio on each. I had the backstory that Casey and Melanie lost a young daughter to leukemia, which spiraled Melanie into such intense depression she wished she could disappear. And then she really did. Casey follows clues trying to locate her and ends up finding a portal which transports him to an alternate world of magic and danger. When he finds his wife, she's completely different and doesn't remember him and has been in this world for ten years.

Items which had to be included in the piece were:

1) Casey and Balal had been searching the city all day for Melanie and enter a tavern. Balal goes to the bar while Casey heads for a table and is accosted by someone trying to sell him something.

2) The hooded figure in the shadows with strange eyes.

3) A raucous scene unfolding which draws Casey's attention to--TA-DA--Melanie.

4) The scene not making sense to Casey because Melanie is acting completely different--drinking, laughing, kissing men, gambling.

5) Chester, her fat, drunken, swordsman companion cracks a joke that makes the crowd holler.

6) Melanie's overall appearance--the blond hair pulled back, the dirty face and unkempt clothing, the silver-tipped arrows, and no sense whatsoever that this woman just lost a child a few days ago.

7) How Casey approaches her, the resulting consequence of being taken down with arrows pointing at his eyes and that she doesn't recognize him as anything but a potential enemy.

8) That her name is Maura but strangers like Casey can call her Silver like the precious metal about to pierce his skull.

9) Balal diffuses the situation, bringing drinks, explaining why Casey is not himself and by making Maura and Chester laugh at his overwhelming goofiness.

10) Maura returns to the man she was flirting with. Casey is furious but when he starts to get up, finds Maura's boot clamped on his throat.

Lots already written, but lots more to think about in order to bring it to life. I found myself asking specific questions as I went along to flesh this out. For example, it was already written that they head to a tavern. So what's the NAME of this tavern? What impressions do we get from it or know about it beforehand? Balal's commentary about the food is a pretty good clue, and also serves another purpose in counterpointing why they must go to such a disreputable place to begin with. And for all this, HOW did Casey come to be here at all? What is the name of this land and what events led to his arrival here? I touched on the death of his daughter and his missing wife then embellished with the imagery of the portal in the cemetery.

When they enter the tavern, it's written already that Casey sees a large crowd of people. The thing that I asked myself was what SORT of people? What races? I decided since this was given as a Tolkien inspired world, elves would be there for sure, but I drew on other lore, since this tavern is seedy and riddled with unsavory types, I decided on dark elves, and while avoiding the use of orcs outright, I used descriptions which would call the same sort of imagery to mind

Like with the the man who approaches Casey. I'm told only that he's accosted by "someone trying to sell him something." So WHAT does this accoster look like and WHAT is he trying to sell? I decided on something either stolen or very fake and ultimately chose the latter and came up with a "magic" weapon which obviously doesn't do what it's claimed to.

The hooded stranger. The description listed above is literally all I was given. So descript! I didn't want to be cliche so I started with body type and what you might notice when looking at someone whose face is concealed and decided perhaps this is a woman. What was strange about the eyes? They were luminous like a cat's. And she's not wearing cliche black. She's wearing forest green. I even started developing more on this character and was going to have Balal inform Casey that this figure is a Hunter and might be able to help, but had to scrap it since chronologically, Casey spots Melanie before Balal rejoins him and the hooded figure is moot by that point.

The gambling, carousing and jesting which Casey witnesses Melanie engaged in. WHAT are they placing bets on? (Arm wrestling, and who would expect little Melanie to win?) The consolation prize of a kiss for the loser to display her newfound wantonness. The downright bawdiness of her behavior and the lewd joke of Chester's becoming a suggestive reference to why Maura's arm is so strong. I had a moment when it occurred to me that this entire scene did not have to be PG. I had a lot of fun with this exercise, and in the end, it helped me overcome the obstacles I had put in my own way. If you find yourself stuck, give some mental gymnastics a try and I bet you find yourself landing on the far side of your block!