Five Ways to Create Inspiration

Paula's note: I've been wanting to write about inspiration and came across this wonderful post -- which first appeared as a guest post on Cassandra Jade's site -- by author and blogger, K.M. Weiland. Katie was gracious enough to give me permission to reprint her very astute and insightful description of this critical element of the writing process. Enjoy! -P.M.

I think it’s safe to open this post with a broad, sweeping generalization: We write because of inspiration. Not only because without inspiration we wouldn’t have anything to write about, but also because inspiration is the writer’s version of runner’s high. It’s this top-of-the-world, explosion-of-joy experience that makes the personal sacrifices and hard work of the writing life more than worth it.

Inspiration, however, is a slippery thing. Ultimately, it is intensely personal, unrepeatable, and often unresponsive to conscious prodding. You can’t force inspiration. It either happens or it doesn’t. You can’t sit yourself down at your desk, squeeze your eyes shut, and demand that inspiration appear in front of you complete with a drumroll and a puff of smoke. Inspiration is a gift, and like all gifts it must be treated with gratitude and responsibility.

But none of this is to say that we can’t position ourselves in the path of inspiration. Instead of just waiting around for the muse to hit us in the head with a lightning bolt, we can learn, in a sense, to create inspiration. Following are five ways I’ve learned to be receptive to inspiration. Inspiration, after all, is all around us; we just have to learn to become a conduit for it.

1. Look at the world through the lens of your story. When I’m in the midst of brainstorming a story, I wear it like a cloak. I, in essence, look at life through the lenses (rose-colored or otherwise) of my story and its characters. I’m washing dishes, walking the dog, running late? Maybe my characters are too. I hear a song on the radio, and it becomes an anthem for the scene I’m working on. I pass an interesting old codger in the mall, and suddenly he’s running amok among the characters in my head.

2. Listen to your subconscious. Never underestimate your subconscious. When you’ve come to a snarl in your plot, don’t think too hard. You can only push your conscious brain so far. On more than one occasion, after I’ve backed myself and my characters into a seemingly insurmountable corner, I’ve sat at the keyboard for hours, racking my brain for an answer that just wouldn’t come. But when I return to the problem the next day, after my subconscious has had a chance to mull over the matter for the night, the solution is practically staring me in the face. When you come across an interesting snippet of an idea that you aren’t quite certain how to develop, toss it into your subconscious for a while. Sometimes ideas stew in the back of my mind for years before suddenly reappearing on center stage as something worth pursuing.

3. Lollygag creatively. Novelist Michael J. Vaughn, who coined the term “creative lollygagging,” purposely looks for mindless tasks (gardening, walking, pulling weeds) to occupy his hands, while his brain stews on his story. “We are not talking about sitting around on a couch. Just as a satellite dish needs electricity, you need some blood pumping into that brain. Next, consider low focus. The activity shouldn’t be so intense that you don’t have time to think (Grand Prix and ice hockey are out). Look for a mellow pursuit, surrounded by low-level distractions.” (From Vaughn’s article “Creative Lollygagging” in the December 2006 issue of Writer’s Digest.)

4. Combine stories. Like most every other writer on the planet, I have at least half a dozen stories romping around in my brain at any given moment, most of them in need of that spark of “something” that will suddenly transform a gem of inspiration into a full-fledged concept worthy of my time and attention. Stories require many layers, and usually they acquire their layers organically. But some of the best complexities in my stories have been the result of combining two (or more) entirely different stories. Juxtaposition creates instant conflict, originality, and depth. Take a look at some of your embryonic stories and see if you can get something special by combining one more of them.

5. Feed the muse. Your creative mind is a living organism that requires just as much attention and nurturing as any visible part of your body. Lavish it with care, and it will flourish. Feed it just as carefully as you would your stomach. Nourish it with quality literature, movies, music, and art. Let it lap up the offerings of other artistic minds—and just see if the muse doesn’t take off running all on its own!

Finally, and most importantly, don’t wait for inspiration. We’d all like to take up permanent residence in that rarefied atmosphere where the “inspiration high” is a constant state of being. But, as all writers discover sooner or later, that high will inevitably run dry. If we allow our writing to dry up with it, we’ll never so much as finish a story, much less be read by anyone. Inspiration is much more likely to strike when your mind is active. So even on the days when the mental well seems to have evaporated and blown away in clouds of steam, sit yourself down at your desk and keep writing. Inspiration, after all, is really a very small part of the big picture.
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K.M. Weiland writes historical and speculative fiction from her home in the sandhills of western Nebraska. She is the author of the historical western A Man Called Outlaw and the recently released medieval epic Behold the Dawn. She blogs at Wordplay: Helping Writers Become Authors and AuthorCulture.

Surprise and Delight

My son, Max, and I volunteer every Saturday with the Escondido Humane Society (EHS), where we take care of the rabbits the EHS has placed in local Petco stores as part of an adoption outreach program. Our duties, begun two years ago, include cleaning cages, replenishing hay, kibble, and water, bringing the animals fresh greens, exercising them in an x-pen setup, grooming and interacting with them, and providing information to store visitors interested in adopting.

What began as a volunteer activity to help my son with college applications has become a labor of love for both of us. During the past two years, we’ve cared for over forty rabbits and have seen many of them get adopted. Even though we’re happy when they find forever homes, it’s hard to watch the rabbits go; after weeks of working with them, they inevitably burrow their way into our hearts. But our volunteering has been a wonderful bonding activity for my son and me and has allowed us to give back in a way that sustains our mutual love for animals.

Max and I have developed a rhythm to our volunteer routine; since he’s good with animals, he does most of the bunny handling and grooming. Since I’m more into organizing and chatting, I take care of the trays, hay boxes, and water bowls, and answer potential adopters’ questions.

On a recent volunteer day, I was busy cleaning one of the rabbits’ trays when a mouse scurried out from under a display rack and skittered across the floor in front of me. The sight of the tiny critter motoring so quickly across the linoleum made me laugh out loud. After months of the same routine every Saturday, this little interlude made my day in a fresh and surprising way.

The runaway mouse also got me thinking about the importance of surprise in our writing. An unexpected element, especially one that makes us smile, can infuse new life into a story that has been rolling along on cruise control. This concept is especially true for those of us mired in the middle of novels, where we’ve become bogged down by static plot lines and characters. An unusual event, an atypical action by a character, or even a surprising bit of dialogue, can give us fresh perspective on a storyline and lend renewed interest and enthusiasm to authors and readers alike.

As an author, I love when the characters in a book I’m writing suddenly do or say things that surprise me. This usually occurs when I’m not sure exactly what will happen next in a scene – suddenly, a character will behave in an unexpected way, and it’s so refreshing and unusual that it peaks my interest. Soon, I’m off writing the next few lines, eager to see where the new direction will lead.

I believe that readers, like authors (and volunteers), also love it when we surprise them. So, if you’ve been slogging through the middle of your latest novel, try letting your characters do something unexpected. The unusual twist may be exactly what you need to give yourself – and your readers – a reason to smile.

Routine Matters

My son, Max, attends a local Sunday morning basketball clinic put on by Jim Brogan, a former NBA player and current coach/motivational speaker. Those who are familiar with Jim know already that he has an unorthodox and eclectic style. He pushes the kids – literally and figuratively – to be leaders as well as good athletes. And he does it with a mix of interactive coaching, conventional shooting and ball-handling drills, and bold “in-your-face” challenges and questions. At the end of each Sunday workout, the kids cluster on the gym bleachers, all sweaty and sucking on their water bottles, to listen to Jim’s “Thought for the Week,” which he prints out on colored paper and distributes after his talk. These talks are the best part of Jim’s Sunday sessions because that’s where he draws on his celebrity status as an NBA player, along with his fiery and determined personality, to drive home important truths about basketball and life.

Jim has been a fantastic source of inspiration and learning not just for Max and his fellow athletes, but for me and all the other parents who huddle close to the kids at the end of the Sunday workouts to hear the weekly thought. Of course, Jim doesn’t just aim his talks at the kids – he focuses on the parents, as well, and there are some weeks when his words are meant more for us than for our offspring.

Today’s talk was one of those “Parents, listen up,” lessons. Jim spoke about a former student who had stopped by and confessed that he was failing his freshman classes at UC Berkeley. The former student told Jim that he was partying until three in the morning every day and had lost his motivation and his ability to stay on top of sports and classes. Jim pointed out the obvious lesson for the kids – that we all have choices to make about how we behave and what we do with our time – but he also mentioned something that made me sit up and listen a little closer.

And that was the concept of having a routine. As Jim told the kids, any of us can go out every night and party and hope we get by on talent and luck. But, he asked, wouldn’t it be better to commit to a routine that’s good for you? He made some suggestions (ones that he’s mentioned before) about good habits for basketball players, including coming to the gym every morning before school and shooting one hundred free throws. But, he also pointed out that having a routine is an important part of life. Even more important, he said, was to use our routines to build up our lives. When life gets boring, or throws us a tough curve ball, Jim suggested that the best way to adapt and adjust is to add a new routine to our repertoire.

This idea hit home with me, especially after a holiday week, when a lot of my normal routines were disrupted. My husband was out of town, the kids were home instead of being in school, and my writing group, which normally meets on Thursdays, had to skip because of Thanksgiving. Even worse, I was involved in some pretty hairy dental work, which left me with a misaligned bite and a lot of soreness. All of this put me off my usual routine of making calls for clients every morning, working on my novel, meeting with other writers, and spending time with my family. I hadn’t realized how much I treasured those daily rituals until they were disrupted this past week.

But most striking to me is the idea that when things get tough, and the going gets boring, one option for getting over the hump is adding a new routine to our repertoire. Who among us writers hasn’t hit the proverbial wall when working on a book? And how many times have many of us, especially after a rough critique or another rejection, considered giving up all together? Jim’s solution, which can keep us in the writing game, is to add another routine. Stuck in the middle of that nonfiction draft? Add a routine of writing an essay or a blog entry on a similar topic every week. Can’t come up with a subplot for that historical novel? Consider adding a daily research or reading timeslot that might provide some answers. Run out of images for that new short story? Why not spend fifteen minutes every day reading a poem by your favorite poet. Creating new routines, I’ve realized, is just as important as having some in the first place.

We writers have all heard about the importance of writing every day as a means of becoming better at our craft. Even those of us who can’t, or don’t care to, write daily usually have some kind of ritual and/or routine that keeps us on our game. A weekly free-writing session, a meeting with a group of writers, an annual retreat or residency – there is typically something we do regularly that keeps us in touch with ourselves and gives us the momentum to keep moving forward with our work. I hadn’t realized how crucial my own routines were until this week, when they were disrupted. Thanks to Jim Brogan, I’m reminded of the value of the every day routines in my life, and how much we all stand to gain by doing those same things – as long as they’re things that are good for us – over and over. Even more important, I’m now going to consider adding new ones when the old routines wear out.

What Makes Writing Worth Doing?

In one of my favorite Woody Allen movies, Manhattan, there's a wonderful scene at the end of the film where the main character, Isaac, a neurotic, divorced television writer, finds himself alone at home on the couch, holding a tape recorder. His teenaged girlfriend, Tracy, has left him, he’s blown a relationship with a woman his own age, he’s lost his job and his apartment, and has discovered that fears about his health were unfounded. In that final scene, alone and hopeless, he turns on the tape recorder and asks himself, "What makes life worth living?" He then answers the question, mumbling into the microphone in his hand: Groucho Marx, Willie Mays, the second movement of the Jupiter Symphony, Louis Armstrong's recording of Potato Head Blues, Swedish movies, Sentimental Education by Flaubert, Marlon Brando and Frank Sinatra, the incredible apples and pears by Cezanne, the crabs at Sam Wo's, and, finally, he adds, "Tracy's face." These last words hit him in a way the others don't; he gets up and, in true Woody Allen fashion, runs through the streets of Manhattan to find Tracy before she leaves for college in England.

I won't tell you what happens at the very end (I’ll save that for those who haven't seen the movie), but I love the fact that the final realization in this film comes because of an image. The picture of a young girl's face in a man's mind summarizes her whole being for him: her sweetness, her radiance, her intelligence. It reveals these characteristics in a way that is so monumental that Isaac has to act. And off he goes, to whatever resolution the story has in store for him.

We writers deal in images. And like Isaac, we often find ourselves at a point in our writing lives where we’re on the couch, alone and hopeless, wondering if we can continue to pour our hearts out on the page year after year.

Most of us have been in the situation where something that was at one time important to us - our job, our marriage, a sport, a hobby - changes, and we suddenly find ourselves asking, Why am I doing this? What’s in it for me? In many marriages, this moment tends to occur after some years together (we’ve all heard the warnings about the seven year itch). We reach a point where we ask ourselves why we married our spouse, why we chose to have kids. We imagine what our lives would be like if we hadn’t gone down the marriage path. Or maybe we meet someone who seems like a true soul mate and wonder "what if?"

Writers often experience a similar pattern. We take some classes, win a few awards, find a good writing group, maybe even land an agent. But our first and perhaps even our second book doesn’t sell, so we doggedly write another one. And halfway through that next one, after maybe five or six or seven years of writing and going to classes and conferences and meetings with other writers, we ask ourselves, why are we doing this? Why spend so many hours away from our spouses, children, and friends, to slave over pages of words? Is it worth it?

And this is where our inspiration falters. Some writers stop writing. They begin to doubt themselves, they become more critical and anxious at their group meetings, or they don’t come at all - spending their creativity on inventing excuses: "I had too much work this week," "I’m not feeling well," "I have to go to an event with the kids," "I can’t find the inspiration/motivation/courage,"etc. Even published writers go through times of doubt, wondering why a book hasn't sold despite good publicity, successful book tours, and decent reviews. Why do any more book signings, they ask? Why write the next book? What makes writing worth the effort?

As in a marriage, when a writer's relationship with his/her work starts to falter, it might be time to examine the situation and get some counseling. A good conference or class can be the answer for some, providing a new way of looking at our writing, or offering new grounds for inspiration and camaraderie. Perhaps a stint at a writing residency might do the trick, providing some needed time for soul-searching and reconnecting with our creative selves.

Or maybe it's time to talk with a spouse, trusted friend, writing expert, agent, even a publicist. Anyone who’s a good listener can act as a sounding board. Have that person ask (or just ask yourself), "What makes writing worth doing?"

If you're honest, your answers might surprise you: maybe it's worth it because you love creating a world all your own from your own imagination; maybe it's the exhilaration you feel when you find that perfect word that illustrates exactly what you’re trying to say; maybe it's the admiration you receive from your friends, your family, your readers; maybe it's the friendships you've formed with other writers like yourself; maybe it's the voices of the characters you hear in your head, begging you to bring them to life on the page; maybe it’s an image of a young girl's face. You don’t know what that image means, but you feel driven to write about it, to find out why it haunts you, to discover what impact understanding it might have on your life.

Listen carefully to your answers. If you’re lucky, you just might discover an idea, a thought or, possibly, an image so powerful that it gets you up off the couch and running to create your next scene.

Oh, and for Isaac, I would have added one more thing that makes life worth living: writing.

Processing the Process

After exchanging sample pages from our novels recently, a couple of my writing friends noted that my pages look really polished, even though they're first drafts. One of the writers asked if I always write so "clean."

My response to her was that I've always written this way, and I suspect it might be because I have so little time to write. I work as a consultant, teach at a community college, and have two teenagers in travel sports, so I'm lucky if I can write once a week. Because of my schedule, I tend to think about whatever scene I'm working on and try to formulate a few things before I sit down: what is the scene goal, what are the images I want to use (usually the images will drive what happens in the scene), and how I will start and end the scene. Sometimes I envision the characters and try to hear their voices talking -- this helps me zero in on what they're thinking and feeling during the scene.

Once I have all the pieces firmly in my mind, I try to scrape out an hour or two to write. It's hard. I've been really struggling lately, because my business has been going well, and I'm in the middle of the semester at the college. But if I know ahead of time what the scene will be about and, especially, what images I plan to use, I can usually get a scene written in one sitting.

The other dilemma for me is my own bias about being "in the zone." Even if I have the scene laid out in my mind, I have to be in a certain mood to write, or I can't do it. I don't know if this is an artistic thing, or if I just lack discipline (probably a little of both).

I know the experts say we're supposed to write every day, but I've never been able to do that. A lot of writers say we're supposed to revise what we write, too, but I don't do a lot of that, either -- I guess because I have so little time. It will be interesting to see if this process holds during retirement; right now, I can't imagine having every day to write. But I have had two-week periods during artist residencies where I could do nothing but write. During those trips, I usually write every other day. My process seems to be built around having some time to think it all through, or else nothing comes out. But, that's just me. I know other writers who sit down and write for a certain amount of time every day. I guess it's a pretty individual thing.

Do you write every day? If so, I envy you. I think it's a lot easier than the way I do it.