Are you staring at a computer screen with no idea what do or what to write? This is often called Writer's Block, but I think it should be called “Feeling Stuck Because Your Character's Won't Talk to You.” Your characters do, after all, run the show.
Here are two tricks to get back in touch with your characters.
Photo by Alyssa L. Miller
Writer's block: When your imaginary friends won't talk to you. (I want this T-Shirt so badly).
Take a break
The first trick to getting rid of Writer's Block is to take a break. For example, here is a conversation I sometimes need to have with my characters when I have Writer's Block:
Hello, characters? Yeah, it's me: your creator. I'm feeling a little stuck right now. Can you take over for a little while? Hello? Are you in there? Ugh. Fine.
When that happens, I walk away, do something else for a while that involves minimal thinking skills (such as playing simple video games or watching TV), then I come back and let my characters take over. If that still doesn't work, I'll do this.
Interview your characters
Yes, that's right. I want you to interview your characters. Ask them questions. What are their families like? What are their hobbies? Who are their best friends Who are their greatest enemies?
I think you'll be surprised how much you can learn from your characters from their answers. You didn't know Lila had a long-lost sister? How could you have missed the fact that Billy's father wasn't dead, but MIA? That was because you were out of touch with your characters. What a perfect time to reconnect. (Check out the interview I recently had with the protagonists in the current story I’m writing).
How about you? What do you do to let your characters take control?
PRACTICE
For this Practice, I want you to get in touch with your characters.
Interview them, talk to them, listen in on conversations they're having with your other characters. Then let them write something for fifteen minutes. After you're done, post your Practice in the comments. Have fun!
This is the perfect time for me to read this post. I am having a terrible time with a young character named Vanessa who is in the story I’m writing. It is hard for me to remember back to when I was seventeen and I had been trying to talk to her because I read about doing that in a book, but she is very quiet and kind of not into older people. I think maybe it’s because of her Aunt Letitia. I think she feels very let down by my generation. Here is what she said when I told her we had to write for this blog. In the writing of this she came alive.
I’m seventeen and I cant’t believe what my parents did. I’m kind of glad you asked what I was thinking about because I don’t have anyone to talk to anymore. I have friends at school but not the kind I can talk to about this. I used to at least have Aunt Letitia. She was really my great-aunt, my grandfather’s sister. She lived with us here on the farm. We used to play a hand or two of gin rummy every afternoon when I got home from school. She’s have the cards out and a couple of glasses of coke and some snacks on the card table. Sometimes I just wanted to go to sleep for a while when I got home but we’d play at least on hand anyway. I didn’t just like her because of the cards though. Aunt Letitia was my friend when I was little. I’m way younger than my sisters and brother, and Mama was always busy cleaning and cooking and working in the garden, so Aunt Letitia and I would go around the place looking at the goats and the chickens, and the hogs when we had them. We used to pick honeysuckle. I guess she was the first person to show me how to pull the thread out of the middle and get that drop of nectar to put on my tongue. One place we used to go was the graveyard. It’s just out family in there. They go all the way back to Aunt Letitia’s great-grandfather who was in the civil war. We have a picture of him with his uniform on. Aunt Letitia would put flowers on all the graves when we visited. She’d pull out the weeds too. She told me about all of the people that were under there. When Aunt Letitia got sick she got to where she couldn’t play cards and I hated to look in her room when I came home. She’s be there waiting for me, all bones and eyes. She’d hold out her arms for a hug even when she could hardly talk. She had cancer of the throat. One of the last things she told me was to tell my children about her when she was in the graveyard. Her voice was so funny and thin when she said that like she was already very far away. I was planning on putting some honeysuckle there on her grave. I could see myself holding a child by the hand and showing them the honeysuckle and telling them about Aunt Letitia. I was planning on letting them put a pile of it on her grave every now and then. But what happened was Mama and Daddy had her cremated. She is in an urn in her room on the card table. I can’t stand to look in there. It makes me cry.
beautifully done. I feel as though I know Vanessa and her aunt very well. How fitting that she is now on the card table where they used to play gin rummy together. Your characters are interesting and very much alive.
Thanks so much. I enjoyed yours too.
I love how Vanessa is narrating the story to you. I could picture everything so perfectly. The ending made me sad. I’m glad this post worked out for you! 😀
Thanks MV. It really was great. I got a lot done with her this morning. Now the other character is being strange.
Ha! Characters are tricky like that.
(Hmm. My comment didn’t seem to get posted here. Strange).
I’m glad the post worked out for you! 😀 I could picture everything so perfectly. The ending made me sad, though I think you could’ve been a bit more descriptive there. “It makes me cry” is a bit too plain. Otherwise, you did great!
Thanks MV. I thought it was a little abrupt too but I had already exceeded the 15 minute limit. I’m a very slow writer I’m afraid.
Never be afraid to go longer than the 15 minute limit! I often write for 20 or 25 minutes.
I hope this gave you some inspiration to write about Vanessa. She has a lot to say and it would go great in your story. It must be hard to have a quiet character but sounds like you brought her to life here.
It’s been many years since I handled a piece as fine as the one you just handed me. The sides of the vase are so smooth, no rough spots at all. It feels like it was
kilned yesterday, and yet it is over 4000 years old! When I hold it in my hand, I do so with delicate care because it is so fragile like a baby newly born, pulled from the earth into the daylight after all these years.
The heft of it, and though now it is filled with red clay and sand, it must have held something else at some time. Water maybe? I tell you why I love this vase. It is a link to our past, to the past of the island and the smart, strong people who built their cities. It is a link to Demeter, the goddess of the earth and fertility, and that is why pulling it out of the ruins of the temple feels like a birth. I couldn’t be happier watching my own children born, though of course, I was not present then either.
Now for the thrill. You notice it is dark and only our small discreet lights give a slight glow over the lip of the dig site and over my arms, covered in dust, and my
cotton shirt. I can’t linger over this vase, no matter how sentimental I feel. We have to recover as many of these vases, and whatever else we can find, as quickly as we can. It is urgent we leave before daylight when the archaeologists and professors return. They must not know we were here, even though by our handiwork they will surely know. Where once were artifacts of the past will be empty holes. Our sacks will be full of well protected treasures, bundled and travelling safely to the other side of the island, rumbling over rocky roads on wooden wheels behind tired oxen. Far away from the calipers and rulers and
cameras and little brushes. Into the hands of the wealthy collectors who will pay well for even the smallest of Morgantina’s cache. Her fortunes will become our fortunes. Never have I needed it more.
I love the thrill of digging in the dead of night and stealing away before the sun rises. My brothers and I have become addicted to coming here night after night to see what we can find. When we return home, we sleep soundly, and wake to unwrap the vases, fetishes, jewelry, and grave remains. Into the afternoon we clean away the dirt and in the evening they are once again on the move to distant
lands over the water. Then we do it again, every night until it is no longer safe to plunder the ruins of the temple – when the risk of detection becomes too great. Then we rest and wait to be paid. It’s not a bad life . I wasn’t always a grave robber. I used to be a carpenter.
Your first paragraph grabbed me, Jay, but as I read I wanted to know more about the setting–where are we? Why are we there? Obviously it’s dark and there are beautiful vases but what else is going on?
I agree with Katie. Very nice descriptions, though!
This reminds me of the way we pull stories out of our subconscious. “so fragile like a baby newly born, pulled from the earth into the daylight after all these years.” The goddess Demeter,goddess of fertility is mentioned. Then you go on to what the vases contain, They leave with sacks full of vases but then come back for more in the night because they are addicted to them. Maybe it’s where I am at my life but the whole thing reads like an analogy about pulling stories from our minds (I started to say fertile minds but sometimes my own mind feels subject to drought; /). Then in the end he says “I wasn’t always a grave robber, I used to be a carpenter” and I feel very much the addiction, the grasping of something rather than the building of it and I think but we are carpenters too as we write. I love the description, some favorite as “calipers and rulers and cameras and little brushes”, ” our small discreet lights give a slight glow over the lip of the dig site and over my arms, covered in dust, and my
cotton shirt”. I really enjoyed this thanks for letting us read it.
Jay this is breathtaking. If this was simply an exercise for you then I might suggest taking a few lines from this piece and putting them in your actual story.
I love the reference to Demeter at the beginning.
Wow this was so hard I haven’t written anything in ages so I tried to keep it easy and basic in an interview format. And I had fun calling myself a creator haha.
Hello, my name is Carmen. I am your creator. Please tell me
about yourself. What is your name?
Kayla Brent. I am twenty three years old and I live in Seoul, South Korea.
If you had to have the name of somebody you admire, who would it be?
Hmm, probably some kick-ass female in a cult movie. Mia Wallace, maybe.
Why did you move to Seoul?
I moved because I love the energy of Asia. I’m from a quiet city in a quiet country. I tried studying,enjoyed what I learnt about but I kept becoming bored. Bored with what, I didn’t know. So I shipped off to Seoul I actually intended to live in Beijing, because I heard that place is the easiest for Westerners to adjust to. But after two weeks in Beijing, I realised that Koreans embraced a more, hmm, a more liberated life than the Chinese. So, Seoul it was.
What is your family like?
I have an older sister, Michelle, we were raised by our single Mum. My Dad kept in touch with us only occasionally, he was not a bad father but him and my mum were both so young that I don’t hold any of their shortcomings against then. My mum did a good job raising us, we got into a good public school. My older sister is a nurse, she became set on nursing early on in high school. Not in a romantic way, in a realistic and financially responsible way. I have been quite bad at keeping in touch since I moved, but when we do catch up we are all very close.
Tell me about what your intentions were when you moved overseas:
I wanted to explore and travel, as most young New Zealanders do. And of course, I wanted to save a bit of money doing it. Teaching English in China seemed like a good way to do this. When I moved to Seoul I had the same intention, teach English. I did this for about three months before I got embroiled in the Korean underworld. I did not at any point intend get involved with any nasty stuff.
So how did you get involved then?
Haha through a boy, of course. He is the older brother of one of the kids I teach English to and we kind of hit it off immediately. I knew he was up to something odd because, well you can always tell can’t you. He was firmly secretive and that was fine with me. I accidentally walked in on him holding a meeting in his apartment with a bunch of severe looking thug types, and from then I was in.
Don’t you have any, well moral conflicts with what you do?
What I do may be illegal, but I am pretty strict with following my own rules. I am not involved with killing or hurting others, not with drugs or anything like that. In fact, I think what I do helps a lot of people. I do it for that, not for the money. Which is actually rather pitiful haha.
Great interview! I enjoyed learning about Kayla. 😀
Thanks 🙂 and thanks for the great post which had me get back to a story long shelved away in frustration 🙂
You’re welcome! Shelving books can be a smart thing to do if you need to take a break, but never forget about them! 😉
This is very enticing. It makes me want to know more. She is involved in some sort of mystery and I would love to watch her as she finds out what is going on.
Thank you! I would also love to know more, more details so I can get writing haha.
I’m also using the interview technique. Hope that’s OK. Note, I’ve set this in the distant future and have changed a number of names of countries to indicate great changes.
I created you as a minor character and don’t quite know what to do with you. Tell me about yourself.
You called me Jana. Why? I’m an Enzeder, we don’t use that name very often. I like the name you used for my sister, Becky. It is far more appealing. I know you mean to kill her off shortly, I will resist all the way.
But tell me about you.
You know I’m sixteen and was to have been married to that ghastly man. I won’t mention his name here. I’m not attracted to your main character or the man you arranged for me to marry instead. However I’m grateful for the second chance.
I’m very close to my sister and will be devastated to lose her. She is not really a bad person, just in the wrong place at the wrong time.
I am also in the wrong place, but I will reveal that later.
I still don’t know what to do with you.
Just wait and see. You have always managed to find a way out of such a dilemma. I could be a major character if you let me. I will need to avenge my sister’s death if nothing else.
OK, we’ll stop there, my time is up.
Not mine, I will see more of you yet. Just wait.
Very nice interview! 😀 It also made me want to hear more about your book. It sounds very interesting. (I like the name Becky, too, Jana). 😉
I wonder if she is going to take over the entire study.
This came at a perfect time. I can’t tell you how much I’ve been annoyed lately because I was stuck. Now, yesterday, when I tried to interview my characters, they (if they indeed have a life of their own) were unwilling to be interviewed. And then today while I was driving, each of them deicded to talk! Thanks for this idea, it put some things into perspective for me.
Ha ha! Yeah my characters are sort of like that, too. They’ll talk when I have no paper and pencil or anything I can write things down with! I’m glad this post worked out for you, too! 😀
Yeah, between this and Joe’s post about Competition and Connectedness, I think my block is unblocked!
Yay!
I’m in the process of doing this right now! I just realized that a question I need to ask my characters is “how many past relationships have you been in? what have you learned? how long did they last?” http://www.illegalwriting.com
Thanks MV, for this great idea. I’m working on a short story, but my character, a young man of about 18, always seems to want to talk in the middle of the night when I’m trying to sleep, and so most of the time, I’m afraid I’ve ignored him. But here goes my one interview question and his answer:
An interview with Adam
Hello Adam, this is me, your writerly friend who
wants to tell others your story. Can you tell me something about yourself that
I don’t know already? Tell me a story of
when you were younger. Were you happier then?
I think I’ve always been kind of wistful. At least that’s
what my sister used to say. Yes, I suppose I was happy – whatever that means.
Or at least content. I remember our
family taking road trips to visit Grandma and Grandpa, or to go camping or
something like that. My parents would be
up front, listening to the radio. They always listened to the CBC radio 1 wherever
we were. Talk shows mostly. They didn’t talk much. My mom would shush my dad
when he tried to say something ‘cause she was listening to something important
on the radio. He always seemed to say something at just the wrong moment, it
seemed. I guess that frustrated him, but
he’d just reach over and give her a love tap on the leg, smile and keep
driving. Me and my big sister sat in the
back. I was always glad there were only two of us, since we both could have our
own window to look out. She would have
her walkman with the ear plugs in, listening to Kirk Cobain or Alanis
Morissette or the Cranberries, or something like that. I liked to stare out the window and let my
mind flow free. I would imagine my horse
running as fast as the car out along the pasture land that we would pass. Well,
it was my imaginary horse, since I never had one. I named him Alexander. He was
a deep golden Palomino with creamy white flowing mane and tail. He was built
like a quarter horse, strong yet quick. Well, he was there with me whenever we
went anywhere in the car. When we’d get
to wherever we were going, Alexander would continue on his swift journey to
wherever he was going. I knew we’d meet
up later.
P.S. I promised Adam I wouldn’t include this in the story, since he felt it might be kind of embarrassing being a guy and all… so don’t tell anyone 😉
*Kurt Cobain 🙂 Unless Kirk Cobain is someone I haven’t heard of! 😛 His sister has great taste in music. And I won’t tell anyone, I swear. 😉
oops., thanks for that 🙂 It pays to do a little fact checking before you submit.
Q: I’m here with Trent Osgood of *&%$. Trent, I have some questions for you, if
that’s ok?
A: Sure, I’ll answer your questions.
Q: Great! Trent, what do you do?
A: Is this going to stay between the two of us?
Q: Well, yes and no.
A: What do you mean, yes and no?
Q: Nobody will ever see your answers. I just need to know more about you so that I can tell the world the story of you, Trent. People want to know.
A: There are things about me that would be better kept secret.
Q: How about this. I won’t use your name, at all. Tell you what, you can even pick the name I use to reveal the answers. Does that sound fair?
A: To be honest, people would still know it’s me. They might see the resemblances. They’ll say, “That sounds a lot like someone I know.” You look frustrated, interviewer.
Q: I’m not frustrated.
A: You sure? I can see you getting antsy.
Q: Listen, Trent, I need to ask you some questions. You said you would answer. Why don’t we get the questions out of the way, and then afterward I’ll work with you to find a way to keep them secret?
A: Well, don’t dig too deep. You might uncover something that disturbs you. Just remember: this was your idea.
Q: Shall we begin, then?
A: We shall.
Q: Ok, again. What do you do?
A: I live unhappily every day with a woman who is entirely unfit for me, and I’m pretty sure she feels the same way. We’re like two puzzle pieces that get put together and when they don’t fit, the kid mashes them together anyway. That’s what I do. If you mean to ask me what I do for money, I work in a slaughterhouse. The pigs come by me on a conveyor, you see, and above them runs a trolley that they hang from as they go through the whole building. They stop at each station so we can gut them, empty them out, and slice them up. My job is to stick hooks in their hind legs so they can hang from the trolley.
Q: That sounds awful. Utterly awful.
A: I make a lot of money.
Q: Good! I’m glad there’s an upside. So tell me about this woman you mentioned?
A: My girlfriend? She’s a bitch. She treats me like a piece of carpet. I think I was too nice to her in the beginning or something. Or maybe that’s just how she is—a bitch.
Q: Can you give me any specifics?
A: She stays with me, I think, because of the money I make. She’s a waitress so she barely makes anything at all. I tell her I’ll pay the rent, the bills, whatever. I guess that was a mistake. One time I asked her to pick up some groceries. I knew she’d just been paid and all my money was tied up with rent. She told me she didn’t make enough that pay period and couldn’t I just figure something out? I asked her “Well, what do you have?” and she got really defensive. She asked me, “Why are you counting my money like you don’t trust me?” She completely flipped out, talking about how if I don’t trust her it must mean that I’m doing something untrustworthy toward her. She demanded to know what I was hiding from her and the whole thing escalated into a very loud argument, and in the end I buckled and apologized. I didn’t mean it, mind you. I didn’t mean a single word of my apology, but I did it to diffuse the bomb. I ended up shorting the landlord and filling up the fridge. Guess what Brittney is strolling around in the very next day? New hairdo, fancy fingernails, nice new strappy-looking shoes. I said I thought you didn’t have any money? She said they were gifts. Bullshit. She takes advantage of me and she’s a bitch and I’m unhappy.
Q: Wow. I am sorry if I got you worked up.
A: I’m fine, really.
Q: Can’t you break up with her?
A: I’m going to.
Q: Great. Then what?
A: I don’t know? Enjoy the single life, I guess.
Q: What do you want out of life?
A: I mean, I guess I want to be loved, like anyone else.
Q: So hopefully you won’t be enjoying the single life too long, I presume?
A: I do want to be loved. Not by her, though, I guess. There’s been something bothering me for a long time. But you better not judge me if I tell you.
Q :Hey, I’m a strictly 3rd party, nonjudgmental fact reporter. All I do is write stories
about people; if I judged them based on their actions then my stories wouldn’t
be very good, would they?
A: I guess not.
Q: So, what do you want to tell me?
A: Well, ok, I’m not gay let me get that out of the way right now. I like girls. Sometimes I catch myself looking at a guy though, and this is disgusting, but sometimes I fantasize about men the same way I do about women. I get really grossed out and push the thoughts away but, eventually, maybe I won’t fight them. Like I said I’m not gay, at all. I guess curious would be the word.
Q: So, do you like guys too, then?
A: I don’t know! I said I’m curious. I don’t want to be a bisexual. You aren’t writing this down, are you?
Q: I wouldn’t do that to you. And if this is making you uncomfortable we can move on.
A: I’m not uncomfortable, or gay.
Q: Wonderful. You’re not gay, fine. I’m glad we’re making this kind of progress. Tell me about your family?
A; Well, I was raised by my grandparents on my mother’s side. Grandma and Grandpa is what I’ve always called them. They died after I’d graduated high school and moved out. You know, I wasn’t even invited to the funeral. My grandparents
loved me, a lot I’m sure, but the rest of the family never wanted much to do with me. They wouldn’t talk to me at holidays or invite me to anything at all.
Q: Why not?
A: I think because of my dad.
Q: They didn’t like your dad.
A: HA. Shit, I didn’t like my dad. Nobody did. I mean literally nobody. He killed himself in prison. DHS took me away from him when I was six and placed me with grandma and grandpa because he was such a terrible person.
Q: And your mom, what about her?
A: She died giving birth to me.
Q: How tragic.
A: I never knew what it was like to have a mother, no, but tragic? I’m glad it happened when it did, instead of having her die when I was old enough to know what was going on.
Q: Interesting point of view, Trent. So what else do you know about your father?
A: Just that he was abusive and in all likelihood, psychotic. When I was a boy growing up, my grandparents just told me he was “sick.” Just that he was very, very sick and he couldn’t take care of me anymore. Of course as I grew older and smarter I’d come to realize that he was a maniac. I have flashbacks sometimes,
just little snippets, distant fuzzy memories like low quality film. I’ll remember him punching me in the face, calling me names and such.
Q: Ok. I think I’ve gotten to know you well enough. You did surprisingly well, what with having absolutely nothing positive to say, whatsoever. I’m surprised you didn’t
break down and burst into tears. I mean your life just seems so terrible.
A: I think I’m just numb.
Q: Ha, well, hopefully things pick up for you. Break up with your girlfriend. Find someone else, have or maybe adopt some kids of your own. Get a puppy, just show the world that you can be a better father than your own. Right?
A: Sure. Say, what about keeping this all secret?
Q: Oh right, right. Tell you what. I won’t even write the story. Actually, we’ll pretend this interview never even happened. What do you say? There’s not much material to cover the whole “conflict and resolution” structure, anyway.
A: I feel like I should be insulted but, yeah that sounds like a plan, man.
Q: Take care, Trent.
A: Peace.
OK! So now that Trent is gone, let me outline this story that I’m totally going to write about him.
Poor Trent, it sounds like he has a long way to go. I hope he finds some semblance of happiness. But we won’t let him know about this story you’re writing. You know, “all characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.”
I think the interview is a great idea. I do also use it occasionally. It does help! Here is a failed interview with a character who still refuses to speak to me. I need to find a friend of his who might be able to tell me what I need to know. This is what Mr. A said to me recently.
Me: “Mr. A you play a strong roll in my newest upcoming story. I was hoping I could have a few minutes of your time to ask you a few questions?”
Mr. A stops writing for a moment and flashes a look of irritation in my direction.
A: “I am sure you are intellegent enough to see that I am busy at the moment, and yet you presist on taking up my time.”
Mr. A sees the conversation as ‘over’ and continues writing.
Me: “Please sir, I know you are busy but-”
A: “Maybe I was wrong. You do have the intelligence of a horse. But what?” Mr. A asks full of impatience “Are you trying to ask me ‘again’ why I dislike the Chairman? Because he is an arrogant asshole. Next question?”
Me: “Well, I ah… Could you expand on that some?”
Mr. A sits up fully and faces me directly.
A: “I’m aware the only true reason you wish so speak with me is so you continue you to spin your tale of lies about that little fool. I shall not humor you with an answer to that question nor shall I not enlighten you about the agenda of me and my kind.
I have no interest in telling you a thing about my experiences or in creating any sort of ‘bond’ with you as ‘character’ and writer.
Should you decide to change your story and tell it proper, in a way where Mr. T completely and utterly fails, then I might consider your request for an interview.
Now, as I said, I’m busy. Leave.”
Sorry Karl, I C/P’sed from an old file when I meant to C/P my reply to you!
I “WANTED” to say, great work with Trent. I really got into his character.
Talking about imaginary friends, I don’t know if it is a good thing or a bad thing, but I kind of like having them around. Trent is a good one to have around. The kind that you are you going to go to a bar and throw back a drink and complain about life.
(Just try no to talk out loud to yourself, that’s when you enter the realm of crazy. Hahaha) Anywho, then I was going to continue with the post that I mis-posted about a character who still refuses to talk to me… Mr. A.
I don’t interview my characters. I write short stories about them. Interviews don’t work for me. That gives me pages and pages of static writing I can’t publish. With stories, I see how they do in active situations and I have stories I can publish at a later time.
I also have a fictional blog where my characters live their lives.
http://WWW.broomfieldsbox.com/
I managed to get a bookload of blog posts and I use them to promote my novels featuring those characters.