Uncommon Inspiration To Break You out of a Writing Rut

By Jacklyn Walters

We’ve all been there—your sentences sound the same, or worse, they sound like someone else.

Your characters are flat. Your scenery, uninspired. Your hands, reaching for the nearest book or screen or cleaning utensil to distract from the hollow shell your mind has become. The only thoughts bouncing around up there are ones you’ve heard before.

You’re stuck in a rut.

We promise you’re in good company; ruts happen to the best of us. The good news is, this usually means you’ve been in a really good groove. The only trouble is your groove got so deep you can’t climb out of it.

It’s easy to return to your favorite pieces or a similar genre to get your gears turning. But your favorite haunts are what got you stuck in the first place. The best way to get out of your head and shake up your writing is with something new. It’s time to get out of your comfort zone. It’s time… to get weird.

Don’t worry, dear writer. We would never lead you astray.

But we will lead you down winding paths you never thought you’d travel. Paths toward…

Paintings & Art

As writers, it is our job to be constantly communicating. With words. So many words. All of the time.

But there’s something beautiful about the way art elicits emotion without saying anything at all.

Step #1 to get out of your rut is with a trip to a museum. This works on multiple levels: remove yourself from the situation, people watch, be quiet, listen, look, question (silently in your head, please).

Walk around until you find a piece that speaks to you. Then sit. For a long time

A few things to mull over while you observe:

1. The way 2D shows dimension

Flat doesn’t mean depthless.

How would you describe the layers of the painting? How does the artist differentiate the foreground from the middleground and background? What does it illustrate and how can you, like the artist, illustrate the relationship between spaces in your writing?

2. The way something solid looks soft.

Wet paint doesn’t naturally embody the fuzz of a cat’s tail, or the scratchy edges of bark, or the soft swaying branches of a willow tree. Creating those delicate textures requires careful consideration. The same goes for your writing: you can’t just say “soft” and expect your audience to feel it.

How can you make words on a page elicit the sensation of physical touch? What does it feel like to hold a stone in your hand? To run your fingers through freshly conditioned hair? To wade barefoot through dewy grass?

3. The subtle details that illustrate deeper meaning.

It’s the sidelong glance from a character in the background. The gloves strewn across the floor instead of placed on the table. Fingers wrapped around a wrist instead of intertwined with another’s.

What can you say more subtly? What details can you place in the background to add depth to your characters and the story at large?

Inanimate Objects

Speaking of things that don’t speak, let’s pay a little bit of attention to inanimate objects.

Is a pineapple more compelling because you can only eat a few pieces before it starts to eat you back? Is a person? (I think so, but I’m a big Nesta fan so take that as you will.)

When you’re in dire need for a creative reset, grab an object, any object, and think about:

1. What traits you can pull from this to create a character.

I know a number of people who resemble a creaky floor, in timbre and disposition. I’ve also met a few light bulbs of varying colors and levels of effectiveness. I’m sure you have, too.

In what ways does the steadfast nature of an incandescent light bulb reflect the ways a person runs hot but true?

It can also be helpful to start with your character and work backwards.

What object best encapsulates this character? Does speaking to them feel like you’re lying on a calm riverbank or like you’ve inhaled a mouthful of pop rocks?

2. What sounds and textures you can translate to your writing.

I never like reading about the sound of wet clothing thwapping on the ground. But the description gets the job done.

What sounds have you mistaken for other things? How would you describe them to someone who’s never heard them before? And why does a clanky radiator always sound like a murderer breaking into your house?

Strangers

Be an observer for a day. Watch how people walk, talk, laugh, interact.

Dialogue falls flat when it doesn’t reflect how people actually talk. Do your audience a favor and go eavesdrop on some strangers for a few hours. My favorite eavesdropping haunts are coffee shops, museums, airports, pretty much anywhere I can wear my headphones and not have them on noise-cancelling mode. Sneaky sneaky.

Spoken bits aside, there is so much to take in when you people watch:

1. A stranger’s gait.

For the love of god don’t say that they swagger. I once knew someone who walked as though he was floating across water. It was powerful. It was mesmerizing. But I would never say he swaggered.

Are they hurried or calm? Is their walk all legs-and-hips or more shoulders-and-arms? Do they choose their steps like a skilled dancer or tromp like a fat pony?

2. The different shapes of noses.

You may never need to describe a nose in your work. But practicing with minute details will stir up your brain for when you’re ready to zoom out to the big picture again.

Are certain noses more common than others? Which bridges stand out? What does a strong nose say about its owner? What would that owner say about their nose?

3. How many tall men with dark hair and tattoos are there in a space?

And how many do there really need to be in your world?

I mean, really.

Movies

This one is basic. But it doesn’t have to be.

Movies struggle to show internal dialogue. They often struggle to narrate. They have to overtly show, rather than tell. And don’t even get me started on books turned to movies.

As a writer of novels (or poetry or essays or short stories), you have the luxury of narration. You also have the setback of needing to describe every action, facial gesture, and gust of wind that rolls through your scene.

Go watch a movie and reflect on:

1. What works visually.

And maybe more importantly, what doesn’t.

This is especially helpful if you’re stuck editing a draft. Once you have the words on the page, sort through what needs to be done instead of said. Don’t talk about strategizing, show your MC building their network of allies.

What parts of movies would be better communicated through narration than with visuals or dialogue? What parts of your story would be better told through actions than words?

2. What’s cringey when it’s said out loud.

Sometimes cringey isn’t bad. But sometimes, movies just can’t get things right.

Worse yet, some authors get caught up in this, too. Assume your audience is smart. Assume they appreciate subtlety.

How can you turn dialogue into an internal monologue? Which bits are needed as spoken word and which are more effective as narration?

Books You Hate

Because there’s nothing more inspiring than rage.

Consider:

1. All the things you hate about it.

Sometimes it’s the characters. There are some insufferable and just plain dull MCs these days. Sometimes it’s the dialogue. Sometimes it’s language that wouldn’t be used in that particular setting. Sometimes it’s everything.

I’m going to be honest, I almost never stop reading a book. But it doesn’t take much for me to hate one. Things I’ve considered DNFing over include, but are not limited to: smut describing “miles and miles of skin,” blond MMCs, the term “alphahole,” conservative MMCs, whiny FMCs, plot holes that didn’t need to be created in the first place, the list goes on.

So when you make your list, be as petty as possible. Then hold yourself to the same standard.

What grinds your gears about it? What could you do better? What will you swear to never do in your own work?

2. Any saving graces.

Even the worst books have redeeming qualities.

A perfect side character. A beautiful setting. A powerful transformation. There has to be a reason people are recommending it, something that drew you to the book in the first place.

Just because a book sucks doesn’t mean it doesn’t make people feel seen. That’s what really matters.

Are the good parts more memorable because the rest of the book was insufferable? Is it more important to have powerful writing or a powerful message?

3. Things you hate in your favorite books.

Even the best books have bits we hate. Sometimes a line doesn’t age well. Sometimes our faves get caught up in cringy situations. Sometimes we’re supposed to hate certain parts. Emotional intrigue is the spice of life.

Are you supposed to hate it? If so, how can you bring that into your work? If not, what would have made it better?

Writing is a magical experience that, on occasion, makes you wish you lived in 1439 so you could slam your fingers in Gutenberg’s first printing press. But there are ways to unblock even the deepest writing ruts. Sometimes it just takes a little bit of uncommon inspiration.

So when you’re feeling bored, stuck, or uninspired, consider broadening your horizons. And if you have a tried-and-true cure to writer’s block, don’t forget to share it with your favorite writing community.