The Secret Every Frustrated Writer Needs to Know

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Are you frustrated with your writing? Tired of writing words you know aren't as good as you want them to be? Frustrated writer, I know why.

The Secret Every Frustrated Writer Needs to Know

It's called the Creative Gap.

Have Patience With Yourself

A weird thing happens when we finally sit down to write The Book: we expect it to come out as magnificently as we think it should.

We see or feel what it should be, and hey—we've read and written stuff all our lives, right? It should just come out!

But it doesn't. 

This is normal.

I'm gonna repeat that because you need to hear it: the book doesn't come out the way we want it to, and that is normal.

Ira Glass is the one who names it the Creative Gap, though it isn't anything new. The gist of it is this: you get into writing because you know what great storytelling tastes like. You know the flavor. You love the flavor. Something in you burns to create that taste for others, so you start writing—but what you churn out in the first few years is so terrible that it shakes whatever confidence you had.

The Creative Gap

This is normal. We all go through it, but the nature of this particular doubt is so intimate that we usually don't talk about it—which means we think we're alone.

We're not alone. I need you to know this.

Ira Glass talks about it in this video. In case you don't have time for a 2-minute clip, here's the crucial text.

All of us who do creative work, we get into it because we have good taste. But there is this gap.

For the first couple years you make stuff, it’s just not that good. It’s trying to be good, it has potential, but it’s not. But your taste, the thing that got you into the game, is still killer. And your taste is why your work disappoints you.

A lot of people never get past this phase; they quit. Most people I know who do interesting, creative work went through years of this. We know our work doesn’t have this special thing that we want it to have. We all go through this.

And if you are just starting out or you are still in this phase, you gotta know its normal and the most important thing you can do is do a lot of work. Put yourself on a deadline so that every week you will finish one story. It is only by going through a volume of work that you will close that gap, and your work will be as good as your ambitions. And I took longer to figure out how to do this than anyone I’ve ever met.

It’s gonna take awhile. It’s normal to take awhile. You’ve just gotta fight your way through.

I know that's a long quote, but it matters, and here's why: every single writer goes through this phase.

We ALL struggle with writing sucky work.

We ALL struggle with being incapable of bringing our imagination to life in the way it deserves.

This is normal.

Know this. Embrace it. Why? Because it will give you strength to keep writing.

Don't Compare, But Keep Reading

One of the biggest challenges as a writer is to continually fill yourself with terrific writing without comparing yourself to it. There's no easy way around this. If you do not read great work, you will never write great work; but as you read it, you can't help but compare it to where you are.

“If you want to be a writer, you must do two things above all others: read a lot and write a lot. […] There is no shortcut.”
—Stephen King

This dichotomy is normal: yes, try not to compare yourself, but still read, and in the meantime ignore the horrible gap you feel between what you create and what you WANT to create.

You may feel a little crazy, frustrated writer. Welcome to the club.

If you have the courage to keep writing and reading even when you're writing crap, you will eventually write stuff that is not crap. The challenge is continuing when you're disappointing yourself.

There are three keys to surviving the creative gap:

  1. Know you're not alone. We all feel this way, and we writers have throughout history.
  2. Know that you can get past this phase. The writers who continue survive.
  3. Repeat points one and two.

Take Heart

Take heart, fellow writer. What you write isn't what you want it to be. That's normal.

If you keep going, and if you keep reading as well as practicing, you will succeed. There is no shortcut. Fortunately, there is a well-trodden road. You are not alone.

Have you struggled with confidence in your writing? Let us know in the comments.

PRACTICE

This one is going to be a challenge. What I ask you to do is this: take fifteen minutes and write something. It may be crap. It may be terrible. Your taste will scream that it sucks; post it anyway. 

I mean that. Post it. You'll be surprised how many other folks struggle the same way you do.

When you’re done, share your writing in the comments below. Don't forget to leave feedback for your fellow writers!

Best-Selling author Ruthanne Reid has led a convention panel on world-building, taught courses on plot and character development, and was keynote speaker for The Write Practice 2021 Spring Retreat.

Author of two series with five books and fifty short stories, Ruthanne has lived in her head since childhood, when she wrote her first story about a pony princess and a genocidal snake-kingdom, using up her mom’s red typewriter ribbon.

When she isn’t reading, writing, or reading about writing, Ruthanne enjoys old cartoons with her husband and two cats, and dreams of living on an island beach far, far away.

P.S. Red is still her favorite color.

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37 Comments

  1. Kayla Bouy

    The day I met David was the day my entire life changed. He was this take charge, I will protect you sort of guy. Standing over six foot tall he towered over me the day I shook his hand to say hello. I had come into the local bookstore to find something some new to read. I had read almost everything in the local library. The librarian would call me every time they got a new shipment of books in. Unfortunately she has not called in over two weeks and I am tired of re-reading the same stories over and over. As I browsed the New Releases rack I heard a voice say over my shoulder.
    “Do you have the newest John Grisham book in stock? Every other place I’ve visited has been completely sold out.”

    Spying the book on the next rack I grabbed it and turned to the speaker. “Here you go Sir. There is a rack of them right here.” I said cutting off the store clerk.
    That is when I got my first look at the man that would cause more heartache for me than I ever thought possible.

    Reply
    • drjeane

      Kayla, this is a great start. I wanted to keep reading.

      Reply
    • EndlessExposition

      I agree with drjeane, this is a great start! You’ve put in some strong characterization in the space of a couple paragraphs. One note – you briefly switch from the past tense into the present in one sentence. “Unfortunately she has not called in over two weeks and I am tired of re-reading the same stories over and over.” Other than that, well done!

      Reply
      • Abuian

        E.E. is right about the tense shift, but it should be considered in context: “I had read almost everything in the local library. {PAST PERFECT—GOOD} The librarian would call me every time they got a new shipment of books in. Unfortunately she has not called {RECOMMEND PAST PERFECT, CONTRACTED—hadn’t called} in over two weeks and I am {SIMPLE PAST—was} tired of re-reading the same stories over and over.”
        Also, Kayla might consider playing around with that “would call me” in the second sentence. Maybe something along the lines of “I’d worked out an arrangement with the librarian that she’s call me . . .”

        Reply
  2. BobbiJo

    Born and raised in a small California town, Susan married her high school sweetheart, Bob, 2 years after graduation. She was an only child, as was her new husband, and it was hard for her to all of a sudden share things with someone. As soon as her car registration was updated to reflect her new name and to also include his name on it, she thought to herself, “it’s not his car, it’s MY car.” She then realized how different things would be from now on.

    Bob also struggled with the sharing aspect in a different way. It was not as hard for him because he didn’t have that much coming into the marriage as far as tangible things. However he did have a lot of baggage which later would greatly affect their lives together.

    He was member of an alcoholic family and consequently he became one himself over the years. It was all innocent at first . . . the usual high school parties, getting drunk once in awhile, etc. But now that he was in the service and away much of the time, the parties became more and more and soon he was caught into the same turmoil his father and grandfather had been in.

    Susan, on the other hand, had no alcoholics in her family at all, so didn’t ‘see’ the warning signs of the fate in store. If only she had known, she thought years later, maybe things would have turned out differently.

    Reply
    • Billie L Wade

      I am the eldest of three children and had to share everything. I can relate to Susan’s wanting her car in her name only. She has the feeling that marriage will result in the loss of her identity. I can feel her self-blame. Nicely written. Keep writing.

      Reply
  3. Azure Darkness Yugi

    Claire sat on the edge of a cliff. Admiring the sea of trees before her. All of it belonged to her. This forest was given to her by the unfortunate passing of her loving parents. For years, the pain, sadness and rage had all but consume her. Almost turning her into a demon of revenge. But she was saved by girl named Shion. She reintroduce love and happiness into Claire’s heart. Making her smile once again. But all good things comes to an end. Shion was a product the company that destroyed her home, and the ones responsible for the death of her parents. Against her will attacked Claire. Forcing Claire’s hand. Darkness came back into her heart. Stronger then ever.

    Reply
  4. Hindra Saputra

    Reality rammed my skull like an eighteen-wheeler. The kissess, the hugs, the morning smiles and the jasmine tea for this few late weeks suddenly vaporized into one, simple, thought that had already been there ever since I agreed to play this game of deception.

    I quickly turned and slipped my way through the sea of various models of thongs, mixed with some beer belly and mister universe figures laying here amd there hoping that Elaine won’t figured out that I was there and she see what I see. It wasn’t a surprised when I find myself sitting on a stool and tell the bare-chested bartender to leave the whiskey bottle and gulping my own stupidity. A wide, plastered smile on my lips always do its magic when he shot me with a concerned look before he turned to a group of blonde bombshell across.

    I shaked my head and laugh when a montage started to rolled inside my head. Ha-ha-ha, Rome. Who the hell do you think you are ? She’s a top notch actress, Bryan owned several famous studios and you. She had an improper relationship with someone, they had to knew each other since high school and you ? You just some bad jokes happen to be her bodyguard turned into a hundred thousand dollar paper husband.

    And you dreaming that she would fell on you ? Like the wise man says ? That loves comes from being used to it ?

    Ha-aha-aha-ha-ha-ha-hu-hi-ha. And I thought my jokes were bad.

    Reply
  5. Cynthia Tierra

    This post is completely USEFUL and reliever for me as most of the time I feel completely alone in front of the blank page. I have to struggle a lot with procrastination and also with what you refer as the creative gap, because in many ocassions I don´t like what I write. I m writing my first non-fiction book (Im a journalist) and its being very hard to finish it without a real deadline and without a tutor who can guide me or challenge me. Thank you a lot to this marvellous site.

    Reply
  6. Val Smith

    I stood on the Long Beach street that I have spent the last of 6 years residing on. The sun was
    already down behind the distant mountains, but the pink and gold horizon still made everything so
    soft and radiant.
    God, I’m gonna miss these beautiful Cali sunsets, I thought to myself. I would sit in my large picture
    window for hours or go sit on the beach – just to watch the sun go down and dream.
    I heard my name being called.
    Damn, I’m also going to miss my ghetto mechanic. I grinned as Clarkie ran up.
    “Damn gal, you really leavin’!” he drawled in his raspy voice, an ever present cigarette dangling from
    his lips. To me, Clarkie always looked he was one sandwich away from starving.
    He looked down at my bags. “I didn’t think you was serious till you sold your Volvo to my son!”
    Adding my Volvo to my Miss List, I gave a sad sigh.
    “Yeah, and tell CJ to take care of my baby. Damn knows he got it at a good price.”
    “Ya know you coulda taken that car withcha, gal,” Clarkie rasped. “You shoulda let me put that
    heater core in and you coulda taken that ride cross country. Them damn Volvo engines last foreva!”
    “Now what if I would have broken down in cow town Kansas?” I laughed. “You know I only trusted
    you to fix it! You telling me you would have gotten on the road to come out to help me?”
    “Nahhh, I dunno bout all that,” he said, shaking his head, heh-hehing. “But I’m tellin you if you
    woulda let me do all the thangs it needed, you would’na had no problems.”
    “And you know I would have let you build the V back up, but I didn’t have the funds, hon,” I said as I
    patted him on the shoulder. “Had to get SieSie situated, put a deposit on a place and I at least gotta
    get a bed when I move in…it is way too cold in Indiana to be sleeping on the floor as soon as I get
    there.”
    My daughter Sienna decided she wanted to stay in Long Beach to finish college. I definitely don’t
    want to leave her, but I have to let her make her own decisions. We had our own tearful goodbyes a
    couple of days ago – my baby is definitely at the top of my Gonna Miss List.
    “Still don’t understand how you can leave all this,” he looked around as he puffed on his cigarette.
    “Whooo, my bones caint stand cold weather!”
    “Well, with Micah acting a damn fool, I can’t afford $900 a month for a one bedroom working for
    Macy’s, Clark,” I sighed. “Him pulling me back and forth into court means his new support order
    won’t kick in for another 3 weeks.”
    “What the hell is on that man’s mind? If I had you, I’d NEVA let go,” he leered, looking me up and
    down.
    “Oh, ok – me, your wife and your side chick – that would have worked out great!’ I laughed.

    Reply
  7. Lonzie Helms

    He wrote the words until they didn’t make sense anymore, tearing out the thoughts in his mind and emptying them onto the page without revision. Every strike of the space-bar signaled another triumph and soon the fire, the oil-lit fire of anointing that had legitimized the biblical kings, had descended upon him inspiring words he didn’t know he had. Tears starting pouring down to the keyboards, hot and stinging tears that blurred his vision and should’ve suspended his march. However, his fingers continued pressing down upon keys as if moved by a mind of their own, a mind with a story to tell. He could almost hear the critics praise, almost feel the congratulatory shoulder pats and hand shakes, almost touch the fame he so deserved, almost feel his life changing before him. His heart rate quickened as his mouth salivated, lusting over the future that was yet to come. There was rolling thunder in the dark room, a storm of all the emotions locked up in silence pouring down like a flood in the desert. The dark and still night outside seemed to be fleeing in terror, what had this man become!

    Finally he tore away from the computer sure he had filled a book’s worth of pages. He initially had his eyes closed and them gradually opened them in order to slowly see the work of a true genius in aristeia.

    “Heha d once s een th man in the shop….” the paper began and went on in the same style. What he had written were the ravings of a lunatic and he stared back at the page, mouth gaping, and scrolled in vain to find the artistry he was sure he had written.

    Reply
    • EndlessExposition

      Simultaneously well written, hilariously funny, and very relatable. Good work!

      Reply
  8. Billie L Wade

    Ruthanne, thank you for an uplifting, encouraging post. I get hung up on perfectionism and my obvious lack of experience. I have to remember that the stories and books I read started with the first draft and that every experienced writer began somewhere. In the following, I am fully aware of my head-hopping. It is in sore need of revision. It is raw writing with no editing.

    Derek occupied the space between Janie and the door. He had her cornered like a criminal caught trying to scale a fence. Janie’s eyes darkened in disgust, disdain, and rage. She refused to cry, refused to reach for the condescending box of tissues on the table.

    Derek eyed her with bemused pity, a feeling of power surging through his loins. But, he didn’t dare touch her hand in a gesture of sympathy. That would invite a law suit. “I’m really sorry it had to come to this.” He spoke to the air.

    Reply
    • S.M. Sierra

      What a cruel man I don’t know why Derek is confronting and blocking her path but Janie’s reaction makes me want to smack his smug face!

      Reply
      • Billie L Wade

        Thank you S.M. Janie is falsely accused of insubordination and Derek just fired her.

        Reply
    • EndlessExposition

      Head-hopping isn’t necessarily a bad thing so long as you’re doing it intentionally. Here I think getting a mental look at how much of a creep Derek is works to your advantage. I would read more of this story, I want to know what’s going on here.

      Reply
      • Billie L Wade

        Thank you ,Endless Exposition. I will remember that intentional head hopping, used sparingly, may serve a greater purpose in the story. Janie is falsely accused of insubordination and Derek just fired her.

        Reply
  9. William E Daye

    Ruthanne,
    I really enjoyed reading our post on the frustrated writer’s secret and can totally relate. As with many others who have commented on their struggles as writers especially with the more common problem known as perfectionism. Perfectionism is something I’ve struggled with since making straight A’s during a semester of college. It seems as though I only get caught up with it during creative projects of my choosing which you’d think wouldn’t be the case except it is just that “your baby.” A long time ago I had started with a project and trashed it because it never went anywhere. The most current project I am working on is a young adult multi-sport athlete series and is centered around a sport that I’ve personally never played nor really been that interested in. That being said, I’ve worked my tail off on researching for this project and making it truly my own. What I am posting underneath this lengthy introduction is a WIP (Work in Progress) of the current project, second chapter.

    “Line up in three rows of five for dynamic warm-ups,” Coach Phipps called out, as the players jogged onto the pitch and split off evenly toward the cones. “Grubb and Bradenburg head off to the side with Mr. Honeycutt for goalie training.”

    The first thing Coach Phipps started each Cavalier practice with following jogging Alex noted was dynamic warm-ups then team stretching. The jogging which caught him off-guard was intense due to his rusty form off the north goal line. The warm-ups which he chastised himself for arriving out of shape for and lacking the energy he’d felt in the locker room. The lack of coordination he’d noticed glancing at his teammates on either side of them while grunting during the high knees drill. It wasn’t likable to Alex that he struggled to maintain proper form on the lunges and side shuffles, so it wasn’t surprising when he caught the worried expressions on the faces of teammates. Nothing about his preliminary drills were worthy of respect, Alex thought, his captaincy chances were slim.

    He settled onto his back for team stretching, aggravated by the tightness in his hamstring. Ten minutes and two swigs from his orange Gatorade later, he was still stretching, frustrated by his lack of flexibility. He’d promised himself that he would start off the upcoming season on the right foot, and now he wrestled with the idea of quitting. He knew his teammates were counting on him. How am I supposed to be coach’s favorite if I can’t stay healthy?

    Reply
  10. Maggie Cashman

    I held the picture of my uncle and his family in my hands, the edges wrinkling and creasing as the tension made my fingers sweat and hold the flimsy paper tighter. The line wasn’t very long, but it was excruciatingly slow. The woman in front of me was standing stock still as her two little boys pulled and tugged on her sleeves, pestering her to go outside, give them some water.
    “I’m so thirsty,” The first said, slowly pulling down her shirt from her shoulder as he let himself go limp.
    “Me too, there’s a desert in my mouth!” The second said, imitating his brother, and slumping down on the ground. Before the second could open his mouth, his mother came out of her dormant state and slapped them both.
    “Shut up! You’ll drink tonight, so for the love of all that is holy, SHUT UP!” They whimpered, and backed away. “When they let your father out, he’ll give you worse, you spoiled children!” They quieted, pouting. No one in the line even turned to look at the entire exchange.
    I watched the clock on the wall, but I soon realized it was broken, the minute hand trying to tick a space forward, but somehow unable to pass it’s current position. With a sinking feeling, I felt like it was a perfect analogy for this line.
    Half an hour or so later, I couldn’t be sure, the woman in front of me got to the desk and starting asking for her husband. It took another eternity for it to be my turn. I put the photo down on the desk.
    “Excuse me, please, I’m looking for my Uncle and my cousin.” I say, painfully aware of how high my voice has gotten. The man at the desk looks like he’s about to put his head down and sleep.
    “What are their names?” He asks slowly.
    “It’s on the back.” I flip the paper over. “My cousin is only fifteen. His father is thirty seven.”
    The man looked at their names, and turned to his computer. After a few minutes of scrolling, he turns back to me.
    “They’re not here.” I feel like the breath has been knocked out of me.
    “W-What? They’re not?” I repeat, stupidly. “There has to be some mistake!”I say, my voice raising.
    “Lady, this is a police office. Most people would be grateful that their family isn’t here.”
    “But where else could they be? My neighbor told me they were arrested! They were put in the same truck! Please, check again!”
    “Did you check the morgue?” The man asked, not a twitch in his face to show that he cares. I spit at him and leave before I can start crying. My heart is beating like a drum. Where the hell could they be?

    Reply
  11. betcyjames

    I just tried to write my own story,,while taking paper no words is coming.

    Reply
    • S.M. Sierra

      Keep trying! I like to open the dictionary and randomly choose words whose meaning intrigue me I write them down then use them to develop and inspire my story.

      Reply
  12. S.M. Sierra

    Madeline sat at the bar ordered a beer and a shot of tequila. As soon as the bartender placed them in front of her a tune brought the words ‘Stop in the name of love’ coursing into her mind. With surging tremors filling her stomach she fished her phone from her pocket and stared at the name. ‘Mia’. She wiped the sweat from her upper lip, swallowed the craving in her mouth, threw down 20 dollars and exited the bar.

    Reply
    • Billie L Wade

      This sounds like a woman alcoholic who desperately wants to quit drinking and Mia is a reason for her to do so. I feel a resonance in her story. Keep writing.

      Reply
      • S.M. Sierra

        Thank you Billie, I’m happy you were able to understand the premise of my story with that one paragraph, Mia could be her sister, Daughter, spouse, Girlfriend, or best friend or even her AA sponsor…not sure which, would have to develop it more to find out, and might just do that, so again thanks for the feedback.

        Reply
  13. Fabio Salvadori

    “It is not perfect!” she screams throwing everything on the floor “It will never be perfect!”.
    I run into the kitchen, and I find Ella staring at the mess before her. All her stuff, papers, notepad, pencils and colours. Everything scattered on the floor.
    I never saw her like this before. She is shaking. Her fists clenched so hard that the knuckles are turning white. I can see the tears slowly sliding on her chicks.
    She turns her head. My senses are tricking me because everything is happening so slowly that it feels unreal.
    Then she lays her eyes on me, and my legs got weak, my heart melts, and it drops to the floor with all her stuff.
    She wasn’t screaming about her work.
    She’s talking about us.
    We are not perfect.
    We will never be perfect.
    Everything goes dark. She shouts my name, but I’m already somewhere else. Again.

    Reply
  14. Vellar Makeya

    Great post, my first work was crap, serious crap. Second wasn’t any better. Five years later and the sixteenth version of my manuscript has just been sent to my editor, and she loves it. You have to hang in there, there is no good without bad, no success without failure, hard work pays off, that’s it, there is no secret to this writing thing, its damn hard work.

    Reply
  15. shiwangi agarwal

    In all honesty, i am struggling with it every single day past few weeks. As much as i want to quit I know that that’s not an option… I am definitely going to adhere to the above mentioned advices.. Thank you so much… It was an eye-opener… It’s god to know that I am not alone…

    Reply
  16. jenjenzun

    I’ve always been frustrated in my writing right now or I can say for the last months. Yes months or I don’t know it feels like years. I can’t find the time because of work. But I know that’s only an excuse for not finding the time to actually work on it. The result is that, I’m not writing nor reading anymore! I succumed to the mentality that maybe it wasn’t for me or maybe I really suck at this.
    As I read and contemplate on my writing before — seeing my diaries/journals, article entries in college and stuffs, and even letters I made for friends — that I can’t believe for myself that I can actually write if I want to and if my mind is relaxed. I mean I am not pressured to write about my life or for my friends in that case I’m doing it for fun and not for everyone who’ll read it and criticize it.
    I think that’s the thing I’ve always been dreading onto. The thing about being heavily criticized or not agreed upon. I have to get rid of them and be confident to the things I believe in. Especially, I’m doing it for them. But for myself.
    That’s the thing I’ve learned and one thing is for sure now, that if I keep on reading and writing like before, eventually I will improve. I just gotta fight for it every single day. Especially when I have doubts and fears. It’s really hard to find the courage but with a community like this, who keeps pushing me (us) forward I get to be strong and make it through. Even though I sometimes keep ignoring the emails hehe. 😛

    Reply
  17. EndlessExposition

    This was a much needed kick in the pants. I’ve been trying to finish a backstory piece for one of my characters but my perfectionism kept halting me. This is a bit longer than what I actually managed to write in 15 minutes, but the first few lines were necessary for context. Reviews are always appreciated!

    This was it. Alicia closed her book and turned to face her mother. “Ma – there’s something I have to tell you.”

    Ma nodded. “Okay.”

    “Do you know what the word ‘aromantic’ means?”

    “No, I don’t.”

    “Do you know what ‘asexual’ means?”

    “As in spontaneous reproduction?”

    Alicia resisted the urge to groan out loud. “No. In reference to human beings, asexual is a sexual orientation wherein one doesn’t experience sexual attraction. Aromantic is a similar term, describing an individual who doesn’t experience romantic attraction.” Ma only looked confused. “That’s what I am, Ma.”

    The confusion didn’t lift. Ma opened and closed her mouth, wrinkled her brow. “I don’t understand.”

    “There isn’t much to understand, Ma. I don’t date or have sex. Don’t feel the inclination, never have.”

    Ma opened and closed her mouth again. She put her hand over Alicia’s and smiled understandingly. “Sweetheart – it’s true that for some people romance isn’t a top priority, and –” Ma cleared her throat, “and some people just have low sex drives. Maybe you don’t fixate on boys like some girls your age do, and honestly it’s probably a good thing, but that doesn’t mean that there’s something wrong with you, or that you have some kind of condition. You just have to wait till you’re ready.”

    Alicia pulled her hand away. “I know I don’t have something wrong with me, and it isn’t a condition. It’s an orientation, like being straight is, or being gay.”

    “Is that what this is about? Do you not like boys? Are you a lesbian?”

    “No, Ma! Man, woman, it doesn’t matter. I don’t have romantic feelings for anyone. That’s how I am. It’s who I am.”

    Ma leaned away from her. Her eyes were wet, her mouth drawn. “Is this my fault?”

    “What, no, why would it be?”

    “Did I – you know, with you not having a father and – growing up without married parents – did I set a bad example? Did I make this happen to you?”

    Alicia’s perfect coming out was crumbling in front of her eyes.

    Reply
    • Billie L Wade

      This flows well. I can feel Alicia’s combination of ambivalence and conviction, and Ma’s confusion and her ultimately making the conversation about herself rather than attending to Alicia’s needs in the moment. Keep writing.

      Reply
  18. Sebastian Halifax

    Ulreke strode toward Caedis, seated in his chair. “My lord, the rebels have been put to flight. As you commanded.”
    Caedis stood, a puzzled look upon his face. “Strange, then, that I do not see Lady Merith before me.”
    “She no longer threatens your rule.” Ulreke said, a bead of sweat forming on his forehead. He forced himself to remain calm.
    “Where is she?” Caedis said, advancing towards the captain.
    “Dead. The insurrection will surely fall to the winds.” Ulreke said.
    Caedis was silent for a moment. Then he lifted his hands, lightning arcing towards Ulreke. The impact threw him across the hall. He landed hard, writhing from the jolt.
    “Your orders were to bring her to me unharmed!” Caedis said, unbridled ire in his voice.
    Ulreke rose to his knees. “She was about to escape. I took a chance.”
    The doors opened, and Wyven entered the chamber. Caedis looked at him.
    “The archers under Ulreke’s command have confessed.” Wyven said.
    “Release them.” Caedis said, turning his gaze back to the hapless captain kneeling before him. “The failure was not theirs.” Summoning the guards, he said, “Take this idiot to the dungeons. I will see to his punishment. Personally.”

    Reply
  19. Rodrigo Palomino

    Important. very pleasant,I appreciate it. thank you.

    Reply
  20. Jola Olofinboba

    Hi Ruthanne! I really find this article helpful. It’s nice to know that every writer experiences ‘The Creative Gap’ in one form or another. I feel encouraged to keep writing, and that’s exactly what I intend to do. Thank you and best wishes,
    Jola

    Reply
  21. TerriblyTerrific

    Sometimes, because I write books for children, I think my writing is a little silly. I may get embarrassed. It’s because it is so cute, and, funny to me that others may think that it is corny,or, cheesy. Am I alone?

    Reply
  22. Nain

    When I start feeling that I want to write something, a mental though comes to mind that discourages me. Deep down, I know, I would like to feel my fingertips typing it. I just cannot begin.

    Reply
  23. Courtnie

    Liza sat in living room with the lights turned off waiting for her husband Gregory to come through the door. He was not getting away with this.

    Gergory pulled up in the drive way, got out the car. He looked around and didn’t see liza’s car. “She isn’t home yet? Damn I could have stayed out longer then”. Gregory said to himself.

    Liza heard the car pull up so she made sure that when he first walked in he couldn’t see her sitting there. The front door open in walked her husband of 12 years. Gregory closed and locked the door behind him. “Did you have a nice evening with your little girlfriend”!? Gregory jumped and grabbed his heart. “LIZA you scared me, I didn’t see your car I thought you wasn’t home”. Liza stood up and walked out of the dark of the living room. “I wanted it like that, so did you have a nice evening with your little girlfriend “? “Liza what are you talking about? I told you earlier I had to work late. I was at the office. I wasn’t with anybody”! Liza the her head back as she laughed at what Gregory just said. “She that is your problem, you don’t pay attention to what is going on around you, I saw you and her coming out of the restaurant downtown ” .

    Gregory turned white as a ghost. He couldn’t believe what he just heard Liza say. “Honey let me explain, it’s not what you think”! Next thing Gregory knew liza cocked her gun and pointed it at him. “WHAT IT LOOKED LIKE WAS YOU HAD YOUR HANDS ALL OVER THAT WOMAN AND THEN YOU KISSED HER “! “liza, baby, I love you “.BANG BANG!!!

    Reply
  24. Takira Hodges

    Sometimes Oka can be a pain.

    Jinx knew Oka never let the light come out of the house because he was too afraid of it getting lost, but did he have to stand in front of the door!?

    “Oka, MOVE,” Jinx said for the umpteenth time. She glared hard at her little brother, trying to intimidate him.

    The little boy did not move, however, he just stared with his big green eyes at her.

    “I don’t want the light to leave, Jinx,” he whined. “Subscript will kill me.”

    Subscript was their father. Like all the other elves, he was at the Willow for prayer and couldn’t hurt her brother. Not that her father believed in harming others. He was spiritual.

    Jinx rolled her eyes, and stomped over to him. She grabbed his bark-colored arm.

    “Move, Oka, I have to see my friends and you’re in the way!”

    “Stop it! You’ll pull my arm out of it’s socket! Eliam!”

    Jinx gasped and immediately dropped her brother’s arm. She whirled when she heard her mother’s light footsteps coming toward them.

    Her mother stared at them with the same dark eyes as Jinx’s, her hands on her hips. She looked annoyed. “What? I was making the leaves.”

    Jinx’s mouth dried up. Uh oh. Oka should not have called their mother. She wasn’t supposed to know about Jinx going anywhere.

    Then, as if on cue, Eliam turned her eyes on Jinx. They hardened like coals, suspicion replacing the annoyance.

    “And, what do you think you’re doing, young lady?”

    Reply

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