I usually don’t have a problem coming up with something to write. My problem is that apparently every story in my head would like my attention at the exact same time, and none of them understand how taking turns works.
I hear writers talk about writer’s block all the time, and I understand what they mean. You sit down, stare at the page, and nothing comes. The words aren’t there. The story isn’t moving. Your brain has apparently clocked out for the day without notifying management.
That really isn’t my problem.
My problem is that I sit down to work on one book and three other books immediately have something they would like to discuss.
I have ADHD, and one of the things I’ve had to stop fighting about the way my brain works is that I am probably never going to be the writer who opens one manuscript, works diligently on that manuscript every single day, types THE END, and only then allows herself to think about another book. That sounds lovely. Organized. Responsible, even.
Couldn’t be me.
I usually have several manuscripts going because different stories get loud at different times. I can be completely buried in one of them, know exactly where I’m going, and then another idea walks into my brain like it pays rent. Sometimes it’s an entire plot. Sometimes it’s one scene. Sometimes it’s literally one fucked-up little thought that will not leave me alone until I do something with it.
That is basically how I ended up with the novella I’m working on now. My husband and I were riding a four-wheeler around the ten acres behind our house, and I randomly thought, Wouldn’t it be fucking weird if we started digging and found bones?
That should have been the end of it.
Normal people probably have weird thoughts all the time and then continue with whatever they were doing. They don’t necessarily need to investigate the fictional consequences of the weird thought for the next however many thousand words.
Apparently I do.
Once something gets lodged in my head, it hangs around. Then it starts inviting friends. Whose bones are they? How long have they been there? Who finds them? Who already knows? What happens after that? Suddenly this one stupid thought I had while riding a four-wheeler has furniture and a mailing address.
So I write it down.
That is why having multiple manuscripts actually helps me sometimes. If one story goes quiet, I can move to another instead of sitting there trying to beat words out of myself. Sometimes my brain needs to leave something alone before it can see what is wrong with it. I can spend hours forcing a scene that is clearly not working, or I can go work somewhere else and come back two days later wondering how I didn’t see the obvious problem.
The second option usually involves considerably less swearing.
Usually.
The hard part is figuring out when switching projects is actually helping and when I am just avoiding something difficult. Because ADHD will absolutely hand you a shiny new idea at the exact moment your current manuscript requires you to solve a complicated problem and be like, Look! New book! This one has no problems yet!
Lies.
It has problems. They just haven’t introduced themselves.
I’ve had to learn that there is a difference between giving a story room and abandoning it because the new thing feels easier. I’m still learning that difference, honestly. Sometimes I switch because I genuinely need the distance. Sometimes I catch myself halfway into another project and realize I am doing everything except writing the chapter I don’t know how to fix.
Fine.
Back to the chapter.
But I don’t think moving between projects is something I need to fix about myself anymore. For a long time, I thought there was a correct way to be a writer and I just wasn’t particularly good at following the instructions. I already spent enough years trying to force my actual writing into places where it didn’t feel natural. I don’t really want to do the same thing to my process.
My brain is busy. Sometimes too busy. Sometimes exhausting. Sometimes it gives me three stories at once when I would really appreciate it if everybody could shut the fuck up for twenty minutes.
But it also gives me the stories.
So no, I don’t really get writer’s block.
I get writer traffic.
And right now there are several manuscripts at the intersection, nobody is using a turn signal, and apparently I am directing traffic.
This seems safe.