Dealing with Writer's Block

                           Writer's block... we've all had one.
  

    They aren't fun.  So I've compiled 5 ways to deal with "WB". 

   #1.  Read your favorite book.  This can help trigger your creative writing process. 

   #2. Imagine your favorite movie character having a conversation with your main character... What would they say?  Build on that.

   #3. Kill off a semi-important character.  Not always the best way, but it works sometimes.  This will enable you to write about the deep sadness of your other characters. 

   #4. Go outside, go for a walk.  Nature, and the offline world in general, have a great effect on creativity.

   #5. Imagine a white blank space in your mind.  Create in this space a scene (location) that would likely appear in your book.  Add a tragedy (also that could happen in your book).  Then, add one by one you book's characters... How will they react?  What will they do?  Build on this until you have an idea to bring you out of your writer's block.  

   #6. Go to a hustling, bustling place.  People watching (however creepy) is a great way to come up with stories.  

   #7. Imagine you're a newspaper journalist.  What kind of headlines will you write about?  A major car crash?  First lady pregnant?  Adding in some pop into your story can really help pick up the pace.  

   #8.  Write a short story about anything. Nothing long, just a single page.  Write about something completely random, that has nothing to do with your actual story.  About how a flower smells, or a little monkey that's lost in the forest, just something to get your mind off your book.  After you've finished go back to your book and see if something starts to flow.

   #9.  Ask for ideas from friends.  You never know what crazy stuff they'll suggest, but sometimes this can really help.

  #10.  Don't get discouraged.  Every writer, in the history of writing, has had a writer's block.  Keep going strong. 


~Allison

   

Passionate Writing

  Get readers hooked by a passionate and emotional beginning, and they won't want to put it down.  The best thing you can be as an author is passionate.  Let your passion come through in your writing. 

   Passionate about writing? Write about an author at a busy news station.

   Passionate about horses?  Write about the fast-paced life of a jockey. 

   Passionate about God?  Write about a man searching for salvation.

   Passionate about sports?  Write about an althete trying to make it to the top. 

         Passion is the key to good writing, so whenever you are writing be passionate.  


   And I'm saying this as a reader, not just as an author. 

                 ~Allison

Top Ten Tips--about publishing a book

   I'm no expert, but these are 10 things that I either did wrong, or did right before publishing my book. 

#1. Page size!
  This is one of those things that I did wrong.  When I was wanting to publish, I had to change the size of my pages smaller.  When I did this, however, almost all of my dialogue shifted from how I had originally had it.  I would very much advise starting out with your pages already set smaller.

#2. Develop characters! 
   People might not always be able to relate to your main character. So create other characters with a variety of personalities.  I.E. witty, shy, funny, anxious, smart...

#3. Add humor!
   When I got later into my book, I wished that I had written more humor.  For me, writing the deep, dark, tragic, and depressing parts are more fun.  But no one wants to read a completely depressing book, so add a little humor to liven it up.

#4. Develop relationships!
   They add so much depth to the story-line. Whether it be a friendship, rivalry a love interest, it keeps the story moving along quite nicely.

#5. DIALOGUE!!!!!!!!
   Even if you are writing in the first person, dialogue is sooooooo important.  It helps the reader understand the situation better, not to mention it is a great way to: add humor, develop character, and develop relationships.

#6. Keep writing!
   Don't be afraid of writing too much!!! It can always be edited out later.  Keep writing, and don't worry about it.  The worst thing you can do is wish you had written out a part that you didn't.

#7. Page count
   An average book runs from 200-400 words in length.  Don't go too short, but don't go overboard by making it too long.  There is a delicate line in-between the two.  Be careful either way.

#8. Font
   DON'T GET TOO ATTACHED TO YOUR FONT!!  This is another thing I did wrong.  In the final stages of formatting being too attached to your font can cause difficulties, because you might have to change it.

#9. Gutter margins (printed books only)
   Gutter margins are the inside margins of each page (i.e. for a right side page the left margin... and visa versa).  You want your 'gutter' margins to be slightly wider than your exterior margins, as the inside is where the book will be bound together, and you don't want your precious words to be cut off.  --unfortunately Google docs does not allow you to set your 'gutter' margins, so I'd suggest converting your file to a Microsoft word, or another type of document. 

#10. Deadline
   If you have a deadline that you'd like to meet, it helps sooooo much to write out a chapter by chapter plot.  That way your story moves along to an ending very smoothly.  Also, you know what you have to include in each chapter, but you can still run with whatever you're feeling. 


Hope these help!!

~Allison

BOOK ON AMAZON!

Hey,
   I'm Allison Ludlow.  I was invited to post on this website several months ago, but I have been a little too busy.  Until a few months ago I had been working extremely hard trying to finish my book--Shakia Napel.
The book is in a series called, The Rebellion Series (how original I know).  The series is about an oppressive government called "Justice" short for, "The Four Pillars of Justice" and the people's rebellion against them.  In this particular book a young girl--Shakia, tells the story of her involvement in the revolution.
  But this week I've finally finished everything! Writing, editing, publishing... Yes, publishing.  For the first time ever, I have published a book!! It's really exciting!  And I never thought it was possible!  But by God's grace, I have made it!  I hope this inspires you all, that it really can be done!

  Below is the prologue and first chapter of my now published book, and even further below is the link if any of you would care to buy a copy...

PROLOGUE

Once, not so long ago, there was a cold, dark country called Acirema.  Acirema had been in existence for hundreds of years when the country slipped past all moral limitations.  Murder was commonplace among the people, and the government was too weak and corrupt to punish them.  It was in these days that a group of four politicians decided it was time for a change.  A big change.  Acirema’s run had finished; the people were tired.  They desired to be rid of crime, and the four politicians were believed to be the instrument for this transformation.

The four politicians: Stefan Kyse - peace, Mergy Guidus - hope, Vidda Maranthas - courage, Breno Rykler - strength.  They were led byRafael Kensworth - unity.  Each pillar was necessary for their mission.  Together they created and upheld laws.  Their strictness delighted the nation whose leaders had let them run amuck for so long.  Eventually they had quietly taken over the entire country, and everything seemed to be good.  Rafael was their leader, supported by the four politicians.  Crime was low, money was high, and the people were happy.  The country was called “The Four Pillars of Justice”.  Those years were happy years, joyous years, and blissful years.  

It was during this time of bliss that the people began to learn to submit to the laws, or be punished.  But since they were glad not to have murderers in their midst, they obeyed no matter the law.  It wasn’t long before the Justices started taking advantage of this fact.  They burdened the people with taxes, and forced them to follow unjust, even criminal laws.

Soon, this time of peace turned into a fiery rage which jump-started a rebellion.  And the people who had been waiting for this moment, were ready to launch their attack.

Chapter 1: Captured

      I open my eyes.  In a flash it all returns to me.  The torrent of bodies, bloodied and scarred.  The screams, the pleas.  Nausea whips through me and shakes my body like a rag doll.  And so begins the new day.

      My name is Shakia Napel.  I live in Base #55.  I am fifteen.  What remains of my family has been scattered so far and wide that we have no hope of recovery.  But that’s what they want you to think.  Their goal is to tear down invisible walls inside of you, any hint of resistance, and smother it.

      I sit up.  A quick glance around my room brings me back to reality and reminds me that today is another day.  Another day of the endless torture I have so long faced.  My clean set of clothes has been placed carefully on a shelf, as they have been each morning since I’ve been here.  Along with them sits my wrist watch.  It has been programmed with my schedule for the day.  Every moment, every second has been accounted for.  I have exactly forty-two minutes before my first activity.  05:15; breakfast.  But I already know sleep has become impossible.

I swing my legs down being careful not to wake my roommate whose name I still do not know.  I wake up long before she does, and am in bed long before she is--according to my schedule.  Emotions flood through me--anger, hatred, fear, longing, but mostly regret.  Regret for not running fast enough to warn my family.  For allowing the Justice to steal them from me.  Regret for living when so many others did not.  For every time I save one of their soldier’s lives.  But just as I have each day, I shove these thoughts away.  I have no room for them here.

      With a sigh, I stand.  I feel as though I have aged fifty years in the four months I’ve been here.  Here, not home.  Because here will never be home.  I change into my clothes knowing that these thoughts will only bring back the memories.  I make my bed and silently close the door behind me.  The long corridor of white doors does nothing to ease my tormented mind.  Room #1045, #1044, #1043, #1042…  These are my neighbors who I will never know.  As a prisoner I have been placed in a group with people whose schedules rarely match my own, making my life more solitary than ever, but maybe I am the only one.  

While I walk, against my will my thoughts return to home: our port by the sea, the long warm summers, and spending hours upon hours at the lighthouse with Keela.  Keela.  Keela.  Keela.  I have to stop.  Hunched over with my head between my hands, his name rings over and over.  Keela.  Keela.  Keela.  If I had a single friend in this desolate place, I might be able to bear our separation.  If only I knew whether he was dead or alive.  If only there was some hope…  hope.  Hope is often at the forefront of my mind, but hope I cannot find.

I look at my watch.  Fifteen minutes until breakfast.  I don’t have time for this, I think to myself.  Pull yourself together!  Room #1004, #1003, #1002, #1001.  The elevator--my worst nightmare.  It wouldn’t be so bad if I didn’t have to scan myself in before I enter.  I put out my hand, and cringe as the needle pokes into my arm.  A DNA sample for the log.

“Shakia Napel.”  A robotic voice speaks, and the doors open.  Inside the door is a scanner, first my eyes, then my wrist watch.  When I first arrived, I accidentally put my wrist watch in first and consequently was punished, which is one of the reasons I hate the elevator so much.  The security in this place, Base #55, is such that you have certain routes that you can only use at certain times.  For example, I am not allowed in the hall leading to the hospital until after I finish breakfast at 05:55.

The elevator drops quickly and without warning.  There is no indication as to which level you are on.  It goes to where your schedule says you are supposed to go.  In my case, breakfast at 05:15.  It is not written on my wrist watch where I’m supposed to go, but the elevator can read data that is not visibly written there.  Even though I cannot see it, I know where I will go.  Breakfast in Cafeteria #4, Table #8, Chair #7.  I know this because on the back of my chair, an electronic device has my name written on it until 05:55, when the device promptly changes the name to April Meadows.

The people I sit with are the same people every day.  They were all born to this world, and know no other life.  They are not aware of the misery as acutely as I am.  They are not reminded of it every waking second of every day because it’s all they’ve ever known.  They’ve never known freedom as I have.  They have been taught that there is no evil in this world, but that very teaching is evil.  It is deceptive and it is cruel.  

There is only one person out of the seven others at my table who I even remotely like.  Her name is Makila Amber.  But even though I like her, each  time I see her it feels like a dagger has gone straight through my heart.  Makila was my mother’s name.  I suspect that they have placed me with her so that I never can forget that this place is my prison.  But maybe I’m paranoid.

The doors open.  Straight ahead is Cafeteria #4.  I am ten minutes early--an unprecedented amount of time.  So it is empty.  There is not one speck of life in the cafeteria.  My chair doesn’t even have my name on it yet.  

I sit, and am reminded of how weary I am.  My eyes flutter closed and the images begin…

I was sitting in the top of the only lighthouse in Asira, our town, keeping my eyes peeled for the ships that were due in.  But my chair was so comfortable that I dozed on and off throughout the night, as I had not had more than four hours of sleep in three days.  Eventually I nodded off.  What felt like seconds later, I was awakened by a shrill scream.  A scream so earth shattering that I could feel it all the way through to my bones.  With a start, I jumped out of my chair, and my eyes were riveted on the scene before me.

Justice Assault Soldiers fell from the sky, seeming to appear out of thin air.  As quick as I could, I lit the warning fire, but it was already too late for the townspeople.  They were greeted by an onslaught of gunfire and explosions.  Most were already dead before the cold night air reached them.

Remembering my training, I raced down the lighthouse stairwell.  I reached the bottom just as the top of the lighthouse was blown off by a mortar.  The force of the blast threw my body to the ground.  I urgently and painfully pulled myself to my feet.  Blood dripped down my face, but I paid it no mind.  I ran, but I seemed to cover no distance at all.  It was as if the earth was rotating under my feet and I was unable to keep up.  I was twenty yards away from my home when the Justices reached it.  Before my eyes, my family was dragged out and beaten while our house went up in flames.

The 05:15 bell brings me back to reality.  I walk toward the quickly forming line, reminded of just how brutal this specific remembrance is to me.  I know from the smell that today is goulash day.  Not a goulash that we used to have back home, but one that is filled with indescribable atrocities that come from the Justice.  If it was food at one point, I cannot tell.  While in line, I look at my watch to see what my schedule is after breakfast.

06:03 Hospital Emergency Room

12:10 Lunch

After the Justice cafeteria manager piles my plate with gray sludge, I walk back to my seat.  My table members have already returned.  Although I eat three meals a day with these people, they are basically strangers to me.  I don’t know what they think of me.  I am usually too drained from nightmares to do much talking.  But today there is a difference.  Something has changed.  There is a stiffness about them that sends shivers up my spine.  I speak for the first time to them.  “What’s wrong?”  I say.  All heads turn.  I suspect they did not know I could speak.  Anglo Kerney is the first to recover from the shock of my words.

“We’ve all been assigned hospital duty.”  In case of an emergency, all members of Base #55 have been trained to work in the hospitals.  Tani Rainsworth is almost in hysterics thinking of the possibilities that this could mean.  Though questions plague me, I remain silent.  I ponder his words.  They can only mean one thing.  War.  The Rebels and Justices have been bickering with each other for longer than I can even remember, but this is war.  My table’s greatest fear.  My only hope.

“How many are there?”  Makila asks.

“No one knows.”  Brufard Ditch replies,  “My friend Natla said that during the night shift they just kept coming.”  This seems odd to me, so I ask, “If there were so many, why didn’t they wake us up to help?”

“Either it isn’t that bad,”  Brufard answers.  “or they don’t want to create widespread terror.  But I suspect it is the latter.”  There is more said but I tune myself out.  What does this mean for me?  For my family?  For everyone?  War?  Is freedom really a possibility?  Is freedom worth the risk of losing both our lives, and our country?

Immediately this last thought is struck from my mind as I remember the pain from each lash of the whip which was the consequence for my mistake in the elevator.  You would think that one little indiscretion would be let go, but here, every rule is enforced with the harshest of discipline.  With that, a shiver of determination tingles up my spine.  Yes.  It is worth the risk.

The faces of my loved ones flash before my eyes.  Where are they?  I ask myself.  Are they still alive?  This is my greatest fear, but also my greatest hope.  I try to remember those last moments before I blacked out…

“NO!”  I screamed, running forward.

Justice Assault Soldiers dragged my father away.  My mother lay in a pool of her own blood.  My four-year-old sister, Amia, screamed for her mother at the top of her lungs.  My younger brother Kuleb, not yet thirteen-years-old, had a gunshot wound in his left quadricep.  Baby Berja is still wrapped in our mother’s arms.

      Just as I screamed, three Assault Soldiers were made aware of my presence and almost immediately strong arms held me fast.  Struggling was useless.  As I watched, one by one my family members were torn from me, despite my every effort to save them.  The last thing I remembered was the face of a single Assault Soldier.  He had blond hair, full thick lips, a rough appearing chin and a perfectly shaped nose.  His expression wasn’t hard or unfeeling, but revealed that every second this went on was torture for him.  It was an expression that has caused me to question the Justice’s motives more than once.  But it was his eyes, his soft brown eyes.  Eyes that told so much, and yet told nothing at all.  Eyes that if you looked deep enough into, you could get lost in.  Eyes that held so much sorrow that I couldn’t...  no, I can’t, think of him as the enemy.  

----excerpt by Allison Ludlow

http://www.amazon.com/Shakia-Napel-Rebellion-Allison-Ludlow/dp/1492974889/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1386120029&sr=1-1&keywords=Allison+Ludlow