Cruising the block

I made mention of the guilt writers can feel when not writing last time I was here. Was that really two weeks ago? Time flies when you're having fun. Or when you're dealing with edits from the seventh circle of hell.

The fact is, I can very easily not write. In fact, I am something of an expert. I will seize any excuse not to throw words at the screen and sometimes it's as if there are traps all around my desk preventing me from even reaching it, like Indiana Jones trying to get to the golden figurine at the start of 'Raiders of the Lost Ark.' 

And I don't even have a bullwhip.

What is also a fact is that when I don't write - if, say, I abandon all hope of getting anything cogent down and I retire to the couch to watch a movie (for instance, Raiders) - the guilt kicks in.

You see, writing is a job and I know I should be doing it. I can make all the excuses I want but in the end I see them for the imposters they are.

The thing is, there are days when I just cannot string words together. That does not mean I have the dreaded writer's block.

I don't believe in writers' block. The Late Terry Pratchett once said, "There is no such thing as writer's block. That was invented by people in California who couldn't write." My apologies to anyone in the Golden State who is reading this. I'm sure Mr Pratchett was wrong.

Philip Pullman said, "Do plumbers get plumber’s block? What would you think of a plumber who used that as an excuse not to do any work that day?"

Whenever I feel my little hand fluttering to my forehead and I sink onto a chaise longue bewailing the fact that my muse has deserted me, I remind myself that I'm a writer and writers write. Right?

By the way, I have never actually done anything like the above. I'm from Glasgow, the toughest city in Scotland, and such behaviour would be viewed with contempt and quite possibly an admonishment to pull oneself together. Swearing and perhaps physical encouragement may also be employed.

So, no writers block but that doesn't mean I don't find myself stuck. There can be many reasons for this, principally the fact that I am not a plotter. I am not even a plantster, as I read here on Type M last week. I am very much a pantster and as such I hit many patches where, frankly, I don't know what the hell is happening.

I wrote around 30,000 to 40,000 words of my book The Dead Don't Boogie before I had to force myself stop and decide what it was actually about. I had all kinds of mayhem going on in Glasgow (it really is a relatively peaceful city despite being the toughest) but with no clear notion as to why. 

So I took myself and my dog off onto the moors to let the Scottish elements blow away the cobwebs. And sometimes just about everything else. The next day, I had a germ of an idea and I was able to complete the draft, then retro fit what I'd already written. 

When you hit a block in the road you either drive round it or, if you are Indiana Jones, drive through it. Sometimes you have to go back and find a different route.

I have come to a shuddering halt with at least two books and could not power through, go round or go back. I began filled with enthusiasm and I knew where I wanted to go but had reached a point where I was questioning why I was actually writing this damn thing. They were examples of an author writing the wrong book. I didn't know it when I began but I sure knew it by the time I found my words, ideas and interest dried up. I wasn't blocked. I just didn't care anymore.

That wouldn't happen to a plotter, I'm sure, but try as I might I don't have the discipline or the patience to go that route.

Here's the thing though - I still feel guilty that I didn't complete those stories. Maybe I will one day, when the time is right.

Guilt as a Plot Device

I'm still trying to finish up summer projects, settle into fall semester, and set up a schedule. But I did have a thought this morning that I want to share.

I woke up when it was still early --or seemed to be. My bedroom doesn't get morning sunlight, so I always have to check the clock. I mention this because I looked down toward my feet and remembered that my cat, Harry, had knocked on my door (literally -- with large Maine Coon paws. He does that every morning when I haven't gotten up by the time he is ready to start the day. It's his follow-up to meows).

Last night, he knocked as I was reading, and I was surprised. I opened the door, he strolled in and instead of looking around and leaving, he hopped up on the bed. He stretched out and settled in. It was almost as if he had been reading my mind and thought this would be a good time to remind me that he is a cat who enjoys company. I had been gone most of the day, and first he curled up in my lap for a nap after he'd eaten, now he was getting in more quality time with me by sleeping on my bed instead of his favorite living room chair.

He seemed to have sensed that I was feeling guilt and decided to rub it in. Before he knocked on the door I was reading a book (research for 1939 thriller that I have on my nightstand) and debating a trip in 2020. I've been wanting to visit Ireland and Scotland. A friend is going on a guided bus tour of Scotland, and emailed to invite me to join her. I have enough travel points to cover my airfare, and it would be the perfect time to do some research for the seventh Lizzie Stuart book I plan to write (assuming I'll finish the sixth). Only problem: If I go to Scotland, I will have to board Harry with his sitter while I'm away. His sitter is one of his favorite humans, and he stayed with her when I was in Alaska. But he was really upset with me when I crated him up and dropped him off. He tried to hide under a chair when I returned to pick him up. Of course, we have been together almost three years longer now. He should know by now that I'll come back to bring him home. But I'm still worried that two weeks away from home would be traumatic for him.

Okay, I know, he's a cat. But I have to live with him. And I feel guilt about not being a good "parent" to my "fur baby" (guilt is built into this language). Even though my cat lives much better than some people and he's certainly lucky that even though I didn't intend to adopt a cat, I was persuaded. He has a good life, and it's not like he would suffer during those two weeks. But I feel guilty. On the other hand, Harry's sitter has a camera in the room reserved for the one cat she is boarding. I can dial in and even talk to him. So if she can keep him, I will probably go.

That brings me to how this is related to writing -- as I was thinking about Harry this morning, it occurred to me that what we feel guilty about provides a clue about what we feel important. I have a character that I'm trying to get a handle on -- two of them in fact -- and I'm going to ponder this.

It turns out there is a difference between feeling "guilt" and feeling "shame". The two emotions are aligned, but not the same https://digest.bps.org.uk/2015/10/15/guilt-prone-people-are-highly-skilled-at-recognising-other-peoples-emotions/

As you can see from the title of the article, people who experience guilt are attuned to how our behavior affects others. But the question is what we do about that guilt. If a character does something because of guilt -- or doesn't do something that everyone would expect him or her to do, knowing that the character would have felt guilty if he or she didn't  . . . follow that?

Of course, it's possible to make a decision and then backtrack. I'm still feeling guilty about going away later this year and leaving Harry alone at home -- even though he'll have twice-daily visits from his sitter. But I'm locked in, having paid. What if I wasn't, and he climbed into my suitcase as I was packing. . .

I'm penciling in time to think about what each of the characters in my thriller might feel guilty about. This could also work for the character who disappears in my next Lizzie Stuart book. I might as well put my own guilt to good use.