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I'm by no means an authority on writing, but I do have eight unpublished novels under my belt. I hope that in sharing some of the lessons I've learned along the way, others might dodge a few literary hurdles. I don't believe all writers write alike, so I don't expect that my own approach to prose will work for everyone. Maybe not anyone. But if you glean something from my experiences, I'm glad to help.

How I overcome writer's block.

Writer's block. The dread curse of the literary world. It happens to everyone. Often, the darn thing settles like a boulder in our already precarious path and doesn't budge for days or weeks or maybe even years on end, leaving us bereft and parched in a creative desert. But while writer's block is a daunting challenge to overcome, it is only that -- a challenge. I used to get it a lot, and I still get it now, but I get it a lot less. How?

I write something else.

I'm not a rigid plot planner and I don't sink my teeth into one novel at a time. I'm a dabbler and if one story isn't panning out for me, I switch to another until the former lets me back in. That's not to say I'm unfocused; I usually have one main project where my heart is most often. But I do allow myself to dabble in anything else when I can't focus on my main project.

For instance, my Bonds trilogy took four years to complete. It was my focus, my joy, but there were months at a time when writing the thing was just too painful, or my moods were too light, or my mind was conjuring up all kinds of random ideas that didn't match the world I'd created. Rather than force myself to go on, I allowed my wandering plot bunnies to dig holes where they may, often focusing on half-baked novel ideas conjured when I was twelve which will never see the light of day, but hey, they were fun and useful just the same.

But you may already do that and it's not always enough. I understand completely.

When dabbling isn't enough, I cause things to explode.

No, that doesn't mean I'm a pyromaniac. I'm not being literal.

Here's an example:

My comedy/fantasy novel Liars Go To Paradise? appeared on deviantART as something of a joke. I wrote a twisted little prologue to a novelette concept, submitted it to dA, and expected nothing much to come my way as a result. It was such a fun writing experience, I gave myself permission to do anything I wanted with the story and kept going. In so doing, not worrying about continuity or depth, it took shape in a zany, cliched way that grew into something almost solid and ended after a year and a half with 180,000 words.

For some reason people enjoyed it and that made me happy, but that's not the point I'm making here. That little story, meant to be an exercise in creativity, never, ever had a moment of writer's block. Because I did whatever I wanted, including random, unexplainable explosions, it never lost itself in my own doubts and expectations. I learned something priceless in writing that crazy story: Don't be afraid to write anything. If it's not good enough the first time, forget about that fact and move on. Editing comes later.

Which brings me to my next point.

I tell my inner editor to take a hike.

For those who have taken the NaNoWriMo journey, and many more besides, this shouldn't be a novel concept. That inner editor is a nuisance, always badgering, always shaking your confidence. It has a purpose. A wonderful, beautiful purpose. But not just yet. Shutting off that voice is imperative if you want to finish writing your project (and remain sane). That editor detracts from the story's flow, forcing you to backtrack and reassemble sentences, paragraphs and even entire chapters.

There's a time and place for that editor, like I said, but not during the first draft. I've had to learn to shut that little voice off, because when I get caught up in grammar or plot holes, I forget how much I've built up a character, what conversations have already been exchanged and the little moments of foreshadowing. And then I repeat myself, causing twice the editing from the get-go. The voice is insistent, but I must ignore it.

So I bribe myself. Sometimes it's with a candy bar, sometimes a trip to the nearby petting zoo, sometimes it's reading a chapter of my favorite novel. I tell myself, if I write just 1,000 words I can have that reward. Whatever it takes to get the words down and keep going. Don't look back. Don't look back. Don't look back!

That doesn't mean I don't peek at the previous chapter to be sure I'm referencing the right event (I have a faulty short-term memory), but I don't worry about those typos. I'll catch them later. Shut up, inner editor. Have an ice cream cone and enjoy the ride; you're not at the wheel yet.

I write six days a week.

After six days of hard work, even God took a day off. So, too, I reserve one day a week to avoid writing. That doesn't mean I don't think about it, but sometimes stepping away is the best way to overcome that block. By denying myself for a full twenty-four hours, I feel gravity moving me to my desk, fingers itching for the keys. By Monday morning, I'm raring to go. But, bear in mind, that only works if I'm writing the rest of the time.

In creative writing class back in high school, my teacher discovered I was writing a novel. It was my first and I was just a few chapters into it. She canceled my other assignments and told me to write twenty minutes in my novel every school day, calling that my homework and final project. Until then, I had dabbled, plotted and dreamed, but the idea of finishing was still a distant goal. With her help, by the end of the term I was half-way through writing my first 80,000 word novel. By the next fall, I had completed the manuscript. Since then, I've finished seven other novels, all averaging 130,000 words. (Again, I do not write in the same novel every day. As I said above, some days I dabble. But I do write something six days a week.)

Looking back on that first manuscript, it's badly written. But I still cherish it today, because I accomplished something huge by dedicating my time--just twenty minutes a day, five days a week--to that purpose. Writer's block came less often because the flow of words was constant and I still gave myself time to rest. I didn't burn out. I kept going.

You can too.