It was during an ice storm that I got my first visit from the writing bug. This was not the Ice Apocalypse of 1976, which turned my entire county into an ethereal wonderland, but it was enough to keep us country folks stranded in our houses. Thanks to a hilly, curvy half-mile-long gravel driveway, there was nothing for me to do but phone my boss and let her know that I had to call in “stuck.”
Staying home for me that day meant cleaning the house. After about fifteen minutes of whizzing around with the vacuum cleaner, I noticed that something was coming out of the droning noise.
It was a book.
A totally made-up, fascinating tale. Around every corner and under each piece of furniture, the vacuum cleaner found another piece of the story, sucked it up, and droned it straight to my ears and into my brain.
Before I knew it, I had an entire novel outlined. All this came with no previous thought or plan to concoct such a work.
And I had it all in my head within about an hour.
Does this sound impossible? For most people, it might be difficult to achieve, but I don’t think it’s impossible. Stories come from all kinds of strange places and odd moments. But most of all, they come from the most ordinary situations that we live every day. We just need to know how to quiet our mouths and listen to our minds.
I must be honest with you; I did have a little help. As a person with ADHD (Attention Deficit Hyperactive Disorder), I have a peculiar knack for translating white noise into something else. My mother also had this ability. She would frequently take a nap with the window fan on, since there was no air conditioning. Out of that fan came the most beautiful, spectacular orchestral music she ever heard. If only she’d had the ability to write it all down!
The lawnmower did the same kind of thing for me. It would buzz out great pop songs, lyrics and all. Much later in my life, the creativity morphed into stories. That book of mine seemed to be the greatest literature ever to come out of an appliance. (If you want to give this a try, the vacuum cleaner is a Kenmore Progressive, circa 2005. I hope it never croaks on me; I don’t know if its replacement would yield the same results.)
But what if you don’t have ADHD, or any other deviance from a regular brain? So many authors say that the cure for writer’s block is to sit in your special writing place and carve out a time to fully concentrate on your words. Stick to a nice, solid schedule. Get rid of any possibility of disturbance or interruption. This the only hope you have of making progress. This is sound advice, but what if you still find yourself stuck on that same page?
Don’t call in “stuck” to your job of writing. There are other ways of getting through this. You just need to use your unique writer’s brain in an unconventional way.
So, you have a half-mile-long gravel driveway, and the mailbox is all the way up the hill there by the road. (Hang in there with me; I’m getting all metaphorical on you.) In that mailbox is a valuable letter with the solution to all your problems. (No, I don’t mean Publisher’s Clearing House; I mean the way to get your story going.) But the driveway is mirror-slick with ice, and it’s impossible to even walk on it, much less drive uphill on it. But wait! You forgot about the ice cleats that your parents gave you years ago, and they’re hanging in the basement!
(By this I mean: the answer might be in your past; look to people you knew. They might have given you the gift of inspiration that you never thought to use until now.)
But the ice cleats are not there. You forgot that you had once lent them to a friend and never got them back.
Okay, fine! Then how about…the neighbor that shares the driveway with you, who lives at the top of the driveway, and brings that letter to you! He can get down the hill with his four-wheel-drive truck. If he can’t get back up to his house, have him stay for coffee, a snack, and some scintillating conversation.
(By this I mean: You may find the answer by asking for help. It’s okay, really. My best friend unintentionally bridged some gaps in my plot, just by talking with me and being there. She even helped me turn the end of my story into a bigger twist than before.)
It could also mean: Move your target. Change your ending; change the outcome of your chapter. Because maybe there really is no way to get there from here.
Add an hour or two of vacuuming after that, and you could have it all worked out. It just might not be exactly the way you originally thought it would be. It might be even better. And you don’t even need to have ADHD.
And there will be no need to call in “stuck.”