Goodreads asked Chris Beakey:

How do you deal with writer’s block?

Chris Beakey First, I'll just say this is one of the most terrifying things. I've had to deal with it waaaaay too often in my day job, when I feel like I'm strapped into a runaway car speeding toward a deadline (represented by a towering brick wall that the car is going to crash into). I've also had to deal with it less often during the novel and story writing, when it feels as if an equally fearsome wall is blocking all of my creative energy.

What both cases have in common - at least for me - is the combined challenge of trying to figure out what I want to say AND how to say it in the most compelling way.

I deal with the challenge sequentially, first by clearing my screen and simply telling myself: "write down what you need to say. What's the point you want to make?"

In my day job as a writer of speeches and other persuasive communications that kind of thinking might play out like this:

"The point I want to make is that people are a lot less likely to become involved in crime if they're well-educated enough to succeed in the workforce."

I know that's a dull way to start. It's telling, not showing, and is just a statement. But I've already relieved some of the Writer's Block pressure by at least putting down the point I want to make.

From there I'll think about 3 key pieces of evidence that will support that assertion or statement. Due to the nature of my day job that usually means referencing research or facts that prove the assertion is true. Once I do that I'm even farther along. I've come up with an argument and figured out how to win it.

At this point I can feel the pressure easing . . . After a few more minutes of thinking . . . and perhaps a 2 minute break to watch puppies or tennis on YouTube or gobbling a handful of french fries . . . I'll go back to that statement and think "what if I said it this way . . .?"

And then I might finally be able to write, in the first-person voice of a tough old police chief:

"Some of my worst days are when I look into the rear view mirror of my patrol car and see the faces of angry and often frightened teenagers on their way to jail. For most of these young men and women, that journey started not with the crime, but with the first of many moments in the classroom as they fell further and further behind."

While that opening isn't a head start toward a Pulitzer, it does represent a solid first step for telling a story - in this case a truthful one - and helping me see where I need to take that story from here. I'm probably still going to be a bit anxious, but not nearly as anxious I was when I was trying to think of what I wanted to say and how to say it in a creative, memorable way.

The process also works for me in fiction. Years ago, as I stared at a blank screen and contemplated how to start Fatal Option, I knew I had to tell the story of a suburban dad who's worried about the disintegration of the bonds between himself and his two teenage kids. I thought and thought and thought about this, considering all sorts of ways to start the story.

Until I finally just wrote down "Stephen Porter is about to do a very bad thing in an effort to save his family - a bad thing that he wouldn't do if not for the state of his mind."

I then realized what might contribute to that state of mind: a night of hard drinking. A raging snowstorm. And a shaky sense of vulnerability that Stephen cannot overcome.

At which point I wrote:

"The blizzard winds hit the bedroom windows with brute-force, the WUMP sounds registering in the recesses of Stephen Porter's mind as he hugged the extra pillow and yearned for a blackout sleep to take the sad night away. His arms and legs were heavy, his sinuses swollen from the emotions that had struck the moment he had climbed into bed. From downstairs he heard the faint chimes of the grandfather clock - a lonely sound resonating through the sparsely furnished rooms of his sprawling suburban house.

"WUMP"

"The windows shuddered again as he slipped into a deeper doze. He sensed a vague threat in the sound - a notion the glass might break as it persisted -

"Wump WUMP"

"- louder now, nudging its way into the dream-space between wakefulness and sleep, still a part of the physical world of his bedroom and his house . . . but with a reverberation of the past."

That's only a few paragraphs, but it reminds me of the simple wisdom reflected by E.L. Doctorow when he said, "Writing a novel is like driving a car at night. You can see only as far as your headlights, but you can make the whole trip that way."

This resonates so well with me because even though I always knew exactly how Fatal Option would end, I didn't know exactly how I was going to get there. But I did get there by focusing on what was illuminated by those headlights and continuing on, slowly but steadily, until I was able to write the story's final words.

So . . . to summarize . . . when you're facing Writer's Block . . . the best way to loosen the bindings that are keeping you from being creative is to ease the pressure you're putting on yourself. Calmly think about what you want to say first, and then just say it. Then let your mind wander a bit until you figure out the words that will convey it in the most compelling way.

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