What does it mean to be a prolific writer? In non-dictionary terms, it basically means you write a lot and publish a lot of work. If you're trying to be prolific, where do you start?
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Just Do It
The everyday answer to making and attaining goals is “Ready, Aim, Fire”. I'm not an everyday kind of guy. If you test me I'm probably some kind of outlier. I subscribe to the “Ready, Fire, Aim” mentality.
I'd rather put something out there than not. I don't want to be on the sidelines. It's more fun to be in the thick of it.
If you want to be prolific, shake off the shackles of indecision. Stop thinking so much. Just do it.
We Don't Need No Stinking Inspiration
Okay. Maybe I stretched the truth…a bit, but not really. How many times have you not written because you didn't feel ‘inspired'? We've all been there.
The secret to becoming a prolific writer is… wait for it… write all the time.
Don't wait for inspiration to strike. Make inspiration come to you. Write until it comes.
How do I do it?
Sometimes I type the same word over and over. Other times I describe how I'm feeling. Most times I find my story by exploring my imagination as I'm writing.
A Prolific Habit
If you want to grow into a prolific writer it's time to take off the training wheels. Jump in with both feet. Establish a daily writing routine.
Take your writing seriously, but still have fun.
Wait! NaNoWriMo is right around the corner. Thirty days of intense writing. Doesn't it take thirty days to form a new habit? Hmmm…
Sounds like the time is right.
What's holding you back?
PRACTICE
Scroll down to the comments section. For fifteen minutes, write continuously by describing how you would demolish a stone wall surrounding a castle.
Catapult? Chisel? Fairy dust? Dragon? Tell us what it looks like. Are there archers firing down? Boiling tar? Be creative.
Don't forget to give positive feedback to your peers 🙂
If you want to be prolific, shake off the shackles of indecision. Stop thinking so much. Just do it.
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Well thank you so much for that little quote. That’s the thing I needed to read today. I’ve been sitting around, getting no where in my research. I think I just need to sit down and write it. This is for the plot; I’m writing a novel in honor of Novel Writing Month. So, instead of looking about lazily on the computer, getting distracted by zombies on Netflix, I’m going to write about the plot for my first book!
Thank you!
P.S.
I stink horribly, and I’m in need of a shower. I will go do that, then I have plans. Expect my practice tomorrow.
You just made me laugh out loud. Write, shower, write. Good luck and thanks for your comments 🙂
OK–well, I tried this and I think I see what you’re saying. This is probably the worst stuff I’ve ever written and in ordinary circumstances I’d throw it away. But by the end of the exercise I realized that just by writing that nonsense piece below, I now had an idea of HOW I’d really write a paragraph about destroying a wall. I’m guessing that’s what you wanted us to get at huh? Here’s the horrid stuff I wrote. I apologize for it being horrible.
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Well, I think the first thing I’d do is a get some canons and shot them towards the wall. Make sure I had lots of ammo and just keep shooting until the wall crumbled. Once it’s all crumbled I’m going to employ an army of giants to move the boulders out of the way. They can toss them over their shoulders, making big piles all around them. Because giants are stupid that way. They don’t think to carry the boulders to one location. So of course I still can’t get to the castle because there are huge piles of rocks everywhere. I should have thought this through more and busted in using a more strategic approach. Maybe by only blasting a hole through part of the wall and then getting some wheelbarrows and moving the rocks and boulders myself. That would have been a lot smarter and left me with less mess and chaos on my hands. But since I didn’t think it through, now what I need to do is fire these damn giants and get some strong men to move these boulders and rocks off to the side so that there’s a clear field to get to the castle. That’s the ticket–when destroying a wall, have a plan.
Giulia,
I actually thought it was pretty funny. For me it started with “Because giants are stupid that way.” I can see you standing there going, “Why did I just do that?” With or without knowing it you just gave us a great example of your stream of thought and then you wrap it nicely with “That’s the ticket–when destroying a wall, have a plan.” The whole thing felt like a metaphor for writing: write something, not like it, change it the next time.
Thanks again!
Glad you liked it then lol
Here’s my practice:
So I’m sitting there staring up at the castle wall. I somehow crept past the guards, the moat, the pitch-soaked field and the crudely sharpened pikes. I swear there were a few dead bodies back there in the gloom.
I could’ve kicked myself for not bringing my barbarian horde. It was that last flagon of ale. Ulga dared me to drink and then Gunther said I couldn’t break into King Jaron’s castle. Stupid. Sometimes I hate being a barbarian. Everyone smells and the food sucks. Maybe I should be a viking. At least they get to sail on ships. That could be cool.
Back to the wall. I could hear someone talking up on the parapet. They were smoking some bitter strand of tobacco that I couldn’t place. Crap. I forgot my pipe too. If I got caught surely the king would let me sit in my cell with my pipe.
Palming a tiny velvet bag in my hand I loosed the strings gently. No use wasting the precious substance I’d marched halfway across the continent for.
The fine powder cascaded to the ground in a shimmer of color. It settled and disappeared into the muck. A second later I felt it, a slight rolling under my bare feet.
“Come one you lazy…” I mumbled.
Before I could finish my complaint the ground ripped open like a muddy zipper. I stepped back and waited. A horned head the size of mine peaked out. Slowly the dragon extracted itself from the portal and stretched.
I pointed to the wall, “Break it.”
The dragon blinked, turned to the wall and inhaled.
very imaginative and a good read. It sounds like the 21st century version of how to accomplish something – get someone else to do it. This is a timely post for me as I will be tackling NaNoWriMo for the third time. I haven’t finished it yet, but each year I get a little more prolific. Now I would like to get a lot more prolific. Thanks for sharing your insights and your practice.
Thanks, Jay. Look forward to seeing you on the other side!
Loved the 1st person, You were there feeling. I especially enjoyed the common acceptance, that the magic powder in the velvet bag, acquired by way of a long journey… Would without a doubt, produce a fire breathing dragon, (the lazy lout!) to break down the castle walls…loved it!
I loved the 1person as well. I was sucked in and excited that the powder created a dragon… it’s a castle wall, you can’t go wrong with a dragon. Very descriptive.
At first I was excited about this exercise and then I got a bit nervous. I recently took a small break from writing and was apprehensive to just write. Well, here goes. By the way I’m not going to go back and read it. I’ll end up deleting it if I do and that defeats the purpose. Disclaimer: this may be completely awful, and that’s perfectly ok 🙂
(I’ve never thought about tearing down a wall before, let a lone a stone one. This is going to be interesting.)
First, I would grab a friend. There’s no way I could do this by myself. Well, I could but it would take me a long time and my attention span is pretty short. So I’d grab my brother because he has a talent for destruction and off we’d go toward to wall. Without any tools whatsoever we’d walk up to the wall and examine it. Some stone takes a good rubbing and it start to break down and just out luck, that’s what we’re working with. I would pull out a magic wand and poof. My brother and I would now have on velcro suits. He would go to one side of the wall and I the other and we would rub and rub and rub. After a few minutes of this we’d switch places. Then my brother would let of a large fart and his side of the wall would start to get weaker. I don’t know what it is, but hard works tends to make him gassy. So along I would go, rub, rub, rub and my bother rub, rub, fart. After about 20 minutes of this we would stand back and huff and puff and down the wall would go. We’d dance and sing and wave our butts at the castle owner as he scrunches up his face in anger. And then my brother would let out one last fart and down he would tumble. “Victory!” we’d yell and run home.
HaHaHaHaHa!
I’m one of the many that loves a good fart joke. You descended into comedy. I love it. Velcro and farts can take down a nation. Yes they can…
“The problem with castle walls is they’re too thick to kick down, too high to climb.” This is what I’m thinking as I clamber up out of the moat at the base of the wall, ready to dash backward into the water if I so much as smell burning tar. I don’t think the warriors on the parapets will be able to aim their tar, exactly, but it’s certainly not worth taking the chance. Okay, I’m maybe being hyper-vigilant, but did you ever see someone who’d been hit with burning tar? It’s not a pretty sight, much worse if you happen to smell them. So my problem is this: I’ve swum the moat and escaped the hungry beasts within with no little expenditure of energy, but now I’ve got this stone-and-mud wall to deal with. Darnit, I wish I’d brought Merlin along! Though he’s not much good at swimming moats with that robe on, the wand would have come in pretty handy in his capable hands. Instead, he’s back at the homestead enjoying the fire and half of my mutton, while I’m out laying siege to the neighbor’s castle, and I’ve never even had occasion to meet this other king!
I’m thinking this quest for power may just be an ego trip, and that maybe I should be happy with the taxes my own beleaguered peasants fork over to me every year. After all, I can get my soldiers to raise their collection percentages, maybe even throw in a little bonus if they do. Life won’t be so bad for the serfs! If nothing else, we mostly keep the dragons at bay, except for the loss of an occasional donkey or field hand; and those are to be expected, so long as the villagers insist on living in thatch huts.
Back to the wall. I’m seriously re-thinking the swim back. All the flesh-eaters in the moat seem to have figured out how I eluded them, and I don’t think they’ll be making the same tactical errors the second time around, so it looks like I’ll have to go up. Hmmmm. Burning oil, if I make it halfway up. Sharpened stakes, if I fall. I guess it’s time to use the gunpowder.
Now, why didn’t I bring that fire with me?
Mr/Mrs Word Smithe,
Love that you delved into “what the hell am I doing here?” Thanks for your homestead humor and half of mutton smack 🙂
I have never done this before… I am not a story writer by any means, I normally write Haiku and short poems, but this wall, just popped up and I have to stop and have a look? 😉
It had been foggy out this morning and I decided to go for a walk, so I could dream up a few new haiku for my journal. My journal was beginning to grow into quite a good size and most of them were pretty good, if I say so myself, with a bit of pride. The fog was dense and seemed to be moody enough to spawn a nice nature haiku, or maybe even a spooky Halloween poem. As I walked along thinking about what little I could see, and how beautiful each thing was, as they were each spotlighted by the fogs narrow focus, stones, ferns, moss, fall leaves still on low hanging branches each a story by their selves…and how they would fit together in another of my many haiku, so many ideas were coming to me all at once, that is the way it usually worked…When all of a sudden! A stone wall appeared in front of me, it was startling to look up and see it there just inches in from my face, before I would have walked right into it. Well now I thought to myself. What is this doing here? and, what does it belong to? I forgot all about haiku and poems at that moment, and all of my ideas and fled like frightened deer leaping and bounding from my mind to hide, till the next time I had such a beautiful foggy interlude. But for now I became totally absorbed by this wall! YES It really was a wall, I found as I put my hands out and patted my way along it’s surface. I decided to try and find out what it was and if there was an entrance or at least something that would tell me where I was at? for I had just realized only moment before, that I was now completely lost. Time was going by and it was beginning to get lighter outside, but the fog still had a tight grasp on the morning and didn’t appear to want to give up. I was thinking out loud by now as I continued groping my way along the wall, when I found a small spot that was missing a stone and the mortar seemed to be crumbling, right where it had fallen to the ground. Hmmm I said to myself I wonder, as I picked up the stone and began pounding on the broken edge of the wall, to try and make a larger hole and purchase an entrance or at least an opening, to peer inside…Just then a deep booming voice said very close behind my ear…Can I help you Miss?
Thanks for getting out of your comfort zone, Barbara! I could feel the desperation in your description. Great job!
Sometime when you start without inspiration, you never know what you’ll find! This started off as a story about someone taking down a castle wall, and turned into a me finding a new character!
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Lianna stared at great stone wall in front of her and ran her hand across it like a lovers caress, feeling every intimate little bump and curve, each of its imperfections and marks telling her a story. A story of battles lost and won, of nights and days, of rain and hail. Moss was growing in all its cracks and crevices, a testimony to its age and how it had sat like a grandfather on its rocking chair in front of the fire, watching its children grow, and tending to theirs when the time came. Today, she would have to pull this protector down from around its loved ones. Those were the orders, and she didn’t have to like them, just to follow them.
Behind her someone cleared their throat, snapping her back to the real world so fast her neck twanged painfully. There stood Rowan, one hand pushing his flaming red hair back from his pale, freckled face, the other resting gently on his sword hilt as if he expected to need to use it any moment. Foolish, nervous boy.
“Sir?” he questioned falteringly “Are you alright?”
“Humhum” She coughed “Just fine thank you” she mumbled, pitching her voice and little lower than natural and trying to puff her shoulders out without drawing too much attention to her chest. She could feel the heat rising in her face. Flaming hell, she wasn’t some country maid asked to her first dance at the village fair! She was a commander and a captain, these men looked up to her and took her word as gospel. She was not about to make a fool of herself, and certainly not over a young rapscallion half her age. Even if he did have beautiful eyes.
“Well what is it, boy?” she barked, more harshly than she intended “Spit it out!” Rowan dropped his gaze to the floor and shuffled nervously from foot to foot.
“Sir, Comrade Casper told me to tell you that the men are assembled in their legions. We attack at your command.” He shuffled nervously from foot to foot again.
“And?”
“And if it pleases you may we know the plan to take the wall” he blurted out in one sudden rush of air. Comrade Casper had certainly put the fear of God into him.
“Tell Comrade Casper he will know when I am ready to tell him” she replied more cooly than she felt. “And to attack on my signal.” Rowan bowed his head and scurried off back in the direction he had come from. Lianna released a breath she hadn’t realised she had been holding.
The time had come, it had to be done now. This was the whole reason she had been sent here and forced to masquerade in this mummers farce. Part of her revelled in the idea that she would soon her herself again, no longer glancing over her shoulder to see who was watching, but another part mourned the imminent loss of the companionship she had found in these men.
She sighed to herself, no point prolonging this. She lifted her heavy helmet and shook her long brown curls out. If she was going to revel herself, she thought she may as well go all in. With a steady hand, she wove thick strands of power into a pattern beaten into her a long time ago, confident enough to do it in her
sleep. Her stomach roiled as the final strand fell into place. How many lives
would she destroy with this? How many widows would she make today? Closing her eyes and clenching her fists, she released it.
The section of the wall in front of her exploded inwards, sending a shower of debris flying towards the castle. She covered her face with her arms to shield herself from the shrapnel, waiting for the almighty cacophony of noise around her to dim to quietness. She peeked nervously over her arms. It was done.
She fumbled for the horn that hung limply at her side and blew hard on it twice. Behind her, she could hear her men rumble into life, a clamour of battle cries and horse’s hoofs pounding the hard packed dirt. There was no going back.
I really enjoyed this. I particularly like the inner dialogue from Lianna about the consequences of her future actions. Great work.
My favorite line, “like a grandfather on its rocking chair in front of the fire, watching
its children grow, and tending to theirs when the time came.”
Thanks for writing, Hannah, and congrats on the new character 🙂
Thank you for the great exercise!
She scrambled, not sure if she could get there without being seen. Two guards passed nearby on the way there. Each was armed with a cudgel, much like the one that had taken her eye.
By the time she reached that hidden pocket, she was frantic. Her hands barely gripped the chisel and hammer. Pulling out the bricks she already had loose, she set them aside and waited. When the morning bells began to toll, she ground into the castle’s mortar with a grim desperation. Three bells in, she loosed another brick.
As more of the wall’s structure lay strewn about her sweaty person, she paused. Ten more bells to go. Another bell, another brick. She continued like this until she counted the last of them. That’s when she saw it. Before her was not the putrid brown of her entrapment, but the temptation of trees–real trees, and the road away from this place.
There was a noise behind her and she panicked, hurrying to get the bricks back into place. Before long, she was dusting herself off and stuffing the chisel into her boot. She hobbled back to the home of her current owner, a slightly dusty basket of bread tucked under one arm.
Today she would tell her sister the way was found. Tomorrow, she would lead the slaves from the hands of a torturer into the forest of freedom. All she had to do was bide her time, endure another rough and sickly embrace from the man who had stolen everything from her. Yes, tomorrow she would demolish the wall of this castle and be free.
I love how it turned into a story of hope. Thanks for practicing with us!
I’ve been getting the emails for a while, but yours was the first practice that jumped out at me. Thanks for the morning inspiration!
I really love how you put your own twist on this, for me I imagined a sort of battle scene, never thought about a slow demolition!
I liked it all but especially “Tomorrow, she would lead the slaves from the hands of a torturer into the forest of freedom.
How would I go about it? Ha, why are you asking me? You young warriors don’t need this old man’s advice now, do you? I thought you were going to go out and conquer the world. That’s what you told me a few years ago. I tried to give you some advice to help you on your way and you were too busy talking about all the heroic things you were going to do to listen to me. So what makes you think I’m going to give you my advice now? You didn’t want it on my terms, so I don’t want to give it to you on yours.
Ha, that’s a battle for you, only take it on your own terms, never on theirs, that’s all the advice you’ll get from me. And that’s the problem with a siege now, isn’t it? You have to wait a damn long time before you can take it on your terms, and keep yourself fed in the mean time. I remember when we attacked Tyre. Damn long siege that one. Couldn’t even get to the damn city because it’s on an island. Or was on an island. We soon saw to that, didn’t we? We didn’t like the terms they gave us, so we changed things. That takes some skill. Skill you
young bucks don’t have.
It’s all about patience. You can throw as many stones at a wall as you like, you can dig all the tunnels, build all the ladders in the world. And you should, believe me, keep active, don’t get complacent, don’t get bored, don’t decide that if you wait around long enough, your enemies will just give up. They’ve got families and livelihoods in there. Answer me this, if you were asked to give up everything you own and face servitude or exile, would you? Don’t interrupt. Not without a fight you wouldn’t, or you don’t deserve to live. No, the men behind those walls, and the women, don’t forget them, they can be just as vicious, more so if their children are involved. That’s the thing about a siege; you’re against an entire city, not just an army.
Anyway, where was I? Ah yes, patience. It’s all about patience. You have to just keep at it, keep throwing stones and building engines until it’s done. Eventually you’ll wear them down, but not after a long time. They’ve got a lot more to lose that you have to win, I can tell you. You have to be resilient. Not like you young folks today, you haven’t got what it takes. You’re used to everything falling into your hands, not like in my day. It was tough then, we had to work for what we have, and now, because of us, you’ve got the world at your feet, so don’t think I’ll be giving you any advice anytime soon, you don’t deserve it, not when you snubbed me when I was willing to help. That’s what you get. You get what you give. You only take a city if you’re willing to give your blood sweat and tears to take it, and you don’t have the heart, I’ll tell you now.
It’s not all about fancy machines and all that you know? It’s about the people. And if you don’t have the people, you won’t get the city. If my old bones didn’t hurt so much, I’d get my armour off the wall, strap on my shield and show you boys how it’s done. But I’m too old for all that now, and if you wanted my advice, you should’ve taken it back when I was giving it. Now off you go, go get ‘em, show me you’ve got what it takes to make your old man proud. Show me you’ve got the resilience you need to take it. Bah, as if!
Awesome. Really like the curmudgeonly feel. I could see him sitting by a fire warming his weary bones, grumbling at the young me. Thanks for sharing. That was great.
This is a subject I’d normally not tackle, and I was surprised where it took my protagonsist. My effort meanders as he fights off the insanity arising from his enslavement, by both the ‘freedom fighters’ and time.
How do I take down this wall? Brick by brick. Or rather, stone by stone, because fire-burnt bricks haven’t been invented yet.
An ancient Chinese curse goes: may you live forever! I am doing just that; from wherever I find myself in time I can recount my experiences in the future to come.
Unfortunately that knowledge dampens my enthusiasm when it comes to chipping away softly at night at these rude undressed stones stacked up before me. I expect any minute to have boiling tar tipped over me by the sadistic guards patrolling the ramparts.
Oh for a high-powered sniper’s rifle to pick off these rascals one by one from a safe distance!
Or simply the dynamite yet to be discovered in an alchemist’s laboratory, or the later large-caliber cannons which’ll demolish this wall in seconds, leaving the smug defenders with more than just egg on their faces.
Looking beyond that, what about the laser beams which will reduce this obstacle, and those insufferable creeps inside the fortress, to vaporized dust?
But hush, my overseer approaches along the covered trench where we work, shackled to the very wall we must reduce to nothing with our cast-iron tools that threaten to snap at any minute.
Who should I hate more: him, or that sadistic Lord in the stronghold we must destroy before we’re freed?
And what price freedom? I, a simple peasant, enslaved by the ‘freedom fighters’ who use us as human shields to have their way, would rather remain a serf. Even with the Lord’s heel on my neck, at least I’m still alive.
True, he does feed us as long as we’re useful, but, I ask you, can you eat freedom?
Ironically I realize I’ll survive this onslaught on my immortality, feeling every blow to my pain-wracked body, and then ‘enjoy’ something which fate has decreed I cannot sacrifice my life for.
You pulled me in. I want to read more and find out why your character knows about laser beams and sniper rifles. A time traveler?
Thanks for sharing!
Thanks Carlos. Yes, the man moves up and down time.