Poet William Stafford wrote every day, rising early in the mornings before the rest of his family. This discipline resulted in about 20,000 completed or attempted poems over his lifetime—of which only 6,000 or so have been published. Occasionally accused of being “too prolific,” Stafford would say, “if you get stuck, lower your standards and keep going.”

I needed this advice this week. Stuck on the same chapter for two weeks now, I realized that something needed to give. It’s not that I don’t know where this chapter is going—I do and I’ve even scratched out an outline of the scene. My problem is that I’ve been too hard on myself. I’ve been tired and stressed lately and beating myself up for not getting further in my story AND I’ve been expecting my prose to be at top-notch level during all this. Rubbish.

Taking Stafford’s advice, I realized that I just need to lighten up and get on with it. Write the crappy chapter. Let my prose suck. I can go back and fix it later when I’m not so stressed and fatigued. After all, this is a first draft. And, as my poetry mentor says, “First drafts are meant to be sucky.”

Even bestselling author Margaret Atwood says, “If I waited for perfection, I would never write a word.”

Exercise for writer’s block: If you feel stuck, set a timer for ten or fifteen minutes and write longhand with pen and paper an answer to one of these questions:

What happens next is…

What if my protagonist is a…

What if my protagonist did this….

What if _________?

See what ideas percolate to the surface. Is there something you didn’t know before?

For more tips check out my last post: “British writers weigh in with tips to defeat writer’s block.”

It’s just part of the process.

When I write nonfiction features I have a system I usually follow that adds order and helps me stay focused. I create an outline but not in the sense of those outlines with the Roman numerals we learned about in grade school.

This is more of a skeleton with the main sections of the story noted: Lede, elements of the story that go in the body with a few notes about what each section will contain, and the conclusion. I visualize the story and tend to write from my notes and the mental image, but these notes serve as a guiding force. Creating the bones of the article gives me momentum and a way to relax into the writing. I can focus on the the words and ideas because I generally know where I’m going.

My process also just helps me write faster.

On larger projects, I note more details and questions, and sometimes create mind maps to generate “what if?” scenarios. These questions often give me the best momentum of all because the need to find answers propels the writing.

I’ve seen a spectrum in how writers approach outlining that includes fanatical detailing of every scene and element of the story to no outline at all.

For an interesting take on how well-known writers approached their work, read Emily Temple’s Flavorwire feature Famous Authors’ Handwritten Outlines for Great Works of Literature.

Currently experiencing one of these frustrating moments myself, I thought I’d explore the idea of writer’s block this week and see what other writers have to say about it.

In this seven-minute video, “Getting Through Writer’s Block,” BBC writers share their tips on getting yourself unstuck, including:

• Try to write something—improving nothing is impossible, improving rubbish is entirely possible.
• One writer does tedious writing exercises to keep her at the desk writing—what she writes may not end up being useful, but it keeps her in her chair writing.
• Trust your subconscious to do the work—do anything else but writing, go for a long walk and clear your mind. Your brain needs a break.
• Another writer pictures an image or a scenario and plays it out in her head.
• Perhaps the subconscious is stopping you because it knows you’ve made a misstep somewhere. This is your opportunity to hash it out.

Do you have any tried and true methods for pushing through writer’s block?

The 2012 winner is Goblinproofing One’s Chicken Coop: And Other Practical Advice In Our Campaign Against The Fairy Kingdom by Reginald Bakeley. This winning book is your go-to guide to banishing pesky dark fairy creatures who threaten to thwart every last pleasure, be it gardening, country hikes, or even getting a good night’s sleep. It beat out, “God’s Doodle: The Life and Times of the Penis,” and “How to Sharpen Pencils,” among others.

Back in March, I announced the contest in this post, Is your book title odd? Check these out and vote for the weirdest one. (You’ll also find links to two posts about writing book and screenplay titles.)

The prize for oddest book title is named after the Diagram Group, an information and graphics company based in London, and The Bookseller, a British trade magazine for the publishing industry. The contest was started in 1978 at the Frankfurt Book Fair, and the first winner was “Proceedings of the Second International Workshop on Nude Mice.”

For more information about how the prize started and past winners, check out the Wikipedia page, Bookseller/Diagram Prize for Oddest Title of the Year.

In a section of her book called “The Yoga of Poetry” she explains that the word yoga means, “to bind, join, attach and yoke, to direct and concentrate one’s attention on, to use and apply. It also means union or communion. It is the true union of our will with the will of God.”

Rosen, also a spoken-word artist, explains that memorizing a poem can also be a yoking or union of ourselves with the larger meaning of the poem. She says that if we choose a poem we know will take us beyond our comfort zone, the yoga of joining our consciousness to the consciousness inherent in the words of the poem will stretch us from the inside out.

The words of the poem enter our body as well as our mind. She says, “It affects your lungs, your pulse, and the tones and textures of your voice.”

I know when I’ve written a really good poem because it has this same effect on me as I read it aloud. The words become a power source in themselves. They take me outside myself yet also deep within myself at the same time. The words become a form of energy.

Exercise: Memorize a poem this week that you know will stretch your comfort zone and write down how it makes you feel.

I have a friend who’s known for the stories she tells. She’s a keen observer of people and life and has a way of making scenes come alive. By observing her oral storytelling technique, I’ve learned how to find my way into writing scenes and stories.

Storytelling has been used since the beginning of time as a way to process life. Before paper or printing presses existed, stories were told verbally. My friend instinctively adopts the techniques of natural storytelling by creating foreshadowing, suspense, strong images, and closure. When she tells a story, I can tell she feeds off her audience, whether it’s one or several, for cues that her story resonates.

If you’re struggling with how to get into a scene or story, you might try telling it to a friend or two.

While some people say you don’t want to “talk your story out” for fear of losing the energy of it, you might find it could actually be a useful tool if you do it with purpose.

To avoid the trap of losing the story’s energy, be ready to write down significant images that strike you. Ask your friends to be alert for anything sensual, whether it’s a smell, sound, taste or feeling, and to listen for conflict. It also helps if your friends note anything that particularly strikes them. As you tell your story, observe and record moments that elicit reactions from your audience. These reactions are cues that you’ve struck a chord.

When you’re ready to write, take the notes and revisit these images and key moments. Write about the emotion of the events and characters. If you’re capturing true events, think about the images and how they make you feel. Then ask, “why?” What meaning do these moments and memories hold?

As you write and remember, you’ll likely recall more details. If you’re writing a fictional scene, your notes and the act of writing should help you more fully imagine it. This process can help you feel your way into the story and escape the trap of being self conscious or thinking too analytically about what you’re writing.

Because storytelling is such a primitive, instinctual part of who we are and how we process life, talking out your story with purpose seems like a natural part of the writing life.

Recently, I wrote a post about loglines based on screenwriter Blake Snyder’s advice and his four requirements for every logline.

I also discovered two really great posts on loglines:

“Writing Good Log Lines” by Stanley D. Williams. See what Williams has to say about the importance of the moral premise of your work.

“Writing Effective Loglines” by J. Gideon Sarantinos gives great examples of loglines from newer movies and classics.

Have you written a logline for your current project? If so, share it in the comments below.