Salt Lake Dirt, hosted by Kyler Bingham, is a literary and film zine, podcast and radio show. Salt Lake Dirt airs on KPCR 92.9FM every Monday at 6:00pm PST in Los Gatos, CA, and interviews some really incredible authors (a few that I love have previously joined the show, so I'm honored to now be a part of the lineup). In this episode, Kyler and I talk about my interactive novel Raising Women.
As summarized by Kyler, "This week on Salt Lake Dirt, we welcome author Shannon Waite to discuss her interactive novel Raising Women. Shannon shares the inspiration behind her unique storytelling approach that combines the classic choose-your-own-adventure format with literary fiction, allowing readers to navigate through 24 possible pathways and four distinct endings. Shannon also reflects on her experiences as a teacher and writer, emphasizing the importance of routine and community in honing her craft. We explore the themes of empathy and perspective within her work. Great book, great chat." If you're curious to know more about interactive novels and/or my writing process, then you should definitely check out this episode of Salt Lake Dirt - Shannon Waite - RAISING WOMEN - Episode 297.
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While I’ve given hours of preliminary research and thoughts in a previous blog post, I know I don’t have enough research done, or enough of a plan laid out, to say: this is exactly how you can use (transgressive) fiction to create social change, so have at it! Change the world! But I do think that this week has already made me feel frustrated, angry, and helpless. Knowing the type of person in power, and knowing that he has so many supporters. Feeling like this made me think of The Boys Who Challenged Hitler: Knud Pedersen and the Churchill Club written by Phillip Hoose. I read this book last month and felt inspired by the stories of some teenage boys who did not like what they saw when the Nazis occupied Denmark, and how they transformed those feelings into actions, leading the resistance. They knew what was happening was bad, and they didn’t let it go. Reading about this made me think about the importance of doing what we can to make a difference, even when we feel helpless (maybe even especially when we feel helpless), and I think art has a place in that. Art and writing can be used as tools to make those differences and so I decided to do some more digging and research to add to what I've already done; to shed some light on ways we can make these tools work.
My previous related essay briefly explored some historical examples of how fiction influenced people, what kinds of things influence people, and how transgressive fiction could be written to influence people in the future. As I continue considering how impactful stories can be, and how they can be used to change society, this essay dives a little deeper into the science behind storytelling and how storytelling can impact our beliefs, and how it can be used to change beliefs. More specifically, today's research focuses on Narrative Identity Theory and narrative therapy. First, I’ll begin by exploring what stories can do. The Cambridge Dictionary defines narrative as: a story, or a description of a series of events. In “Narrative Identity: What Is It? What Does It Do? How Do You Measure It?” McAdams (2018) says that stories entertain us, stimulate social experience, and observe human intentions and conflicts. By describing events, stories can place people in experiences they’ve had before, or experiences they’ve never had, which do provide us with a window to human intentions and conflicts. He adds, “It is probably no exaggeration, then, to claim that stories teach us how to be human” (p. 364). It makes sense then that people learn from these scenarios; so if stories teach us how to be human, then think about the ways in which stories can reteach us about our humanity. That’s where narrative identity and narrative therapy come in. McAdams continues by explaining how Narrative Identity Theory came to be. First, he defines identity. He says, “Identity is a ‘‘configuration,’’ Erikson (1959, p. 113) wrote, an ‘‘integration’’ of ‘‘childhood identifications,’’ ‘‘the vicissitudes of the libido,’’ ‘‘aptitudes developed out of endowment,’’ and ‘‘opportunities offered in social roles,’’ all working together, as it were, to confer upon a life a sense of ‘‘inner sameness and continuity’’ (Erikson, 1963, p. 261)” (p. 360). These then develop, and usher in adulthood, making identity something continuous. McAdams (2018) then muses, if identity was physical, what it would look like? After some possible metaphors, McAdams decides that identity might look like a story. He then proposes that identity and storytelling are intertwined. Humans have many experiences, and experiences can be told through story, so there are many stories people use to create for themselves a central identity story. McAdams presents two ways that stories might work together to create the larger autobiography that we carry with us. The first way is a part of Narrative Identity Theory. McAdams talks about how in his Narrative Identity Structure Model (NISM), Dunlop discerns a form that puts our big and little stories in a hierarchy. This means that a person might consider her stories of herself as a mother to be the most important, maybe next to her role as a doctor, then next to the stories of her as a wife, among others. All of these sets are subordinate to, and contribute to, the great story of who she is. Thus, while these stories have different levels of importance, they work together to make the complete idea that is a person. McAdams (2018) then goes on to describe another possible form that does not use a strict hierarchy, but rather looks more like a short-story collection by a single author. In this case, the stories are centered around one person, the person whose identity is in question, but explore different facets of this person’s life. They are not necessarily more important than others, but instead simply sit next to each other because they are related. Both concepts can explain how a person continues to affirm a sense of ‘‘inner sameness and continuity’’ (Erikson, 1963, p. 251) across different situational and role contexts throughout their life. (p364). Despite having different roles and different experiences, sometimes over the course of one hundred or more years, people are able to see themselves as one person. This ability is referred to as a special function – integration. McAdams says that, “Narrative identity brings things together, integrating elements of the self in both a synchronic and a diachronic sense (McAdams, 1985)” (p. 364). Thus, translating our experiences into stories, and using those stories to create an identity for ourselves, makes us feel human. So if stories teach us how to be human, and we use storytelling to define ourselves, like McAdams says, then can’t we use storytelling to redefine ourselves and others? That’s what narrative therapy works to do. Guy-Evans (2023) agrees that humans have many stories to tell about the different experiences they have and the things they participate in, and act as a powerful influence on our beliefs. She says, “We like to interpret daily experiences in life, seeking to make them meaningful. The stories we have about our lives are created through linking certain events together in a particular sequence across a period of time and finding ways of making sense of them – this meaning forms the plot of the story.” Narrative therapy asks clients to separate themselves from the stories they’ve come to identify with, and instead reshape and reauthor their life stories into more empowering ones. She says, “How we have developed these stories is determined by how we have linked certain events together in a sequence and by the meaning attributed to them.” She seems to agree that we create a hierarchical structure with our stories. That hierarchy is then how we give our stories meaning, and the meanings that we give them then create our identity. Understanding how stories impact identities can help with understanding how to help people separate themselves from those stories to change their beliefs. McAdams (2018) discusses how stories can promote social relations, give guidance for life, and boost morale. These stories compound over time, and contribute to our personal beliefs. Tankard and Paluck (2016) also explain how individuals’ attitudes tend to develop over a long time and may be tied to personal experiences and beliefs. This means that beliefs can take a longer time to change, although that’s not to say they can’t be changed, because they can. David McRaney (2022) discusses one way to change people’s minds called deep canvasing, where volunteers go door to door and have conversations with people about their beliefs. “Not every time, but often, people using their technique could get a person to give up a long-held opinion and change their position, especially about a contentious social issue, in less than 20 minutes” (p. 15). To do this, the volunteers build rapport, ask questions, and reflect the homeowner’s views. McRaney (2022) describes one example of deep canvasing when a Proposition 8 campaign in California asked people to vote against same sex marriage. Some voters went from approving of same-sex marriage to voting against it. It seemed that this change of heart may have been because of propaganda videos that scared parents into believing their children would be negatively affected if the proposition passed. Instead of ignoring these videos, volunteers brought the video ads with them on their canvassing, and used them to address voters’ concerns in their discussions (p. 23). Arguably, this act helped voters rewrite their understanding of their own story. If parenting made up many of the person’s identity stories (and especially if it ended up near the top of their hierarchy), then something they felt threatening to that story would have put them on edge. By addressing those concerns with the voters and discussing it with them, volunteers helped voters reconsider their beliefs and rewrite their own stories. By considering how narrative identity theory works, and how narrative therapy is used to help people change the stories they tell themselves about their own lives, these techniques can be incorporated into transgressive fiction to change social beliefs. In narrative therapy, “The therapist will help clients to objectify their problems, frame these problems within a larger sociocultural context, and teach the person how to make room for other stories.” The steps include: putting together the narrative, externalizing the problem, deconstruction, and re-storying. The therapist listens to the client as they explain their stories, which sounds similar to the process of deep canvasing. Additionally, the therapist works to help the client deconstruct their stories into smaller, more manageable parts, like the way McAdams (2018) describes Narrative Identity Theory. I am arguing that literature (more specifically, transgressive fiction) can do this work too. Stories that can get people to recognize themselves in the story, reflect on the part of their identity that feels threatened, and help them reimagine that story for themselves, could be a way to use storytelling to create social change. Guy-Evans (2023) says, “When someone’s problematic stories are well established, people can become stuck in them, unable to view alternative versions of the story. A narrative therapist will help people challenge their stories and encourage them to consider alternative stories.” This work, challenging beliefs and presenting alternative stories, is something that an author can do. The work that the therapist does in this kind of therapy, challenging clients’ stories and rewriting them, could be considered a form of transgression. In my previous essay, I address some ways that transgressive fiction can be used to challenge social norms and create resistance. Performance is one thing that influenced my arguments in that essay, and is a topic addressed in Transgression as a Mode of Resistance by Christina R. Foust (2010). Foust discusses performance and how it can be one example of transgression in resistance. One example that she talks about is festival street performance. This kind of act is transgressive in that it is unexpected and unconventional; it certainly goes against norms. Foust says though, "While festive street performance is a display of communal strength and a means of educating the public, no policy, or law, or budget will change unless the State feels threatened" (p. 14). Another example of performance she talks about is the destruction of property; however, Foust (2010) says, “Symbolic property damage and radical street performance, like the smashed GAP windows and human blockages that rocked the Seattle WTO meetings, do not clearly communicate "global justice” (p. 5). Thus, there are arguments against performance, saying that it is “immature and ineffective” or difficult to “build and maintain a collective agent, which is ‘necessary’ for social change” (p. 13). I’d argue that performance can be effective, if it clearly communicates its intentions and makes people feel threatened. For example, in Upton Sinclair’s The Jungle, Sinclair tells a story of dreadful working conditions in the meat packaging industry. This novel reached President Roosevelt and resulted in the Meat Inspection Act of 1906, regulations on food and drugs, and the formation of the Food and Drug Administration (“Upton Sinclair's The Jungle”, n.d.). This novel communicated its intentions with criticisms directed at a clear system (companies producing harmful meat), making it clear who society needed to take down, and the novel also made people feel threatened, which is why the topic ended up on the president’s desk. By harnessing performance in other ways, transgressive fiction could effectively use elements of Narrative Identity Theory and narrative therapy to help influence change. D’Hont (2020) does argue that the transgressive texts she analyzes in Extreme States: The Evolution of American Transgressive Fiction 1960-2000 do not offer solutions or alternatives, which is what narrative therapy seems to fix. By using transgressive storytelling to help people place themselves in a situation where they are offered alternative solutions, writers can help readers “re-story” themselves. Some literary techniques that lean into the transgressive and performance side of storytelling include the interactive fiction genre, and the second person point of view. I’ve admitted before that I’m nowhere near a concrete formula for transgressive fiction that would create social change, but as I’ve worked on research for the last two years, this genre and point of view had been on my radar as possible elements in such a formula. Considering how re-storying can support this formula, these elements only seem to be that much more important. Narrative therapy can be used with individuals, or couples or families; I’m arguing that, if done intentionally and effectively, this work could be used to help reshape more community-sized beliefs and identities too. As I look through my previous research notes on other examples of performance that could be incorporated into transgressive fiction, I’m seeing so many that align with Narrative Identity Theory and the process of narrative therapy. I truly think that writing a transgressive novel that engages readers and then guides them into rewriting their story could be effective. I don't have the formula to do that figured out yet, like I'm still unsure of exactly how to write a novel that guides people to restory their identities, but this essay explores more elements that support the possibility, and allow me to think more about elements in the stories that could accomplish it. I’m not claiming that any book could change everyone’s minds; after all, deep canvasing says don’t waste your time on people who are too deep-rooted in their beliefs because it will be a waste of time. Deep canvasing says to identify the people closer to the fence because you can change more minds that way. If transgressive stories could sway enough people to start a revolution, then that’s what matters. In a time when I feel like the United States is crumbling because too many people are acting selfish and heartless, I decided it was time to do more research. I’m throwing myself into ways that writing can be used as a form of resistance; writing can be used to start a revolution. For anyone else who feels hurt, scared, or attacked by the people in power and the people who support them, just know that I stand with you. I stand with women, people of color, indigenous people, LGBTQ+ people, low-income individuals, people with disabilities, senior citizens, immigrants, refugees, and veterans. Let’s be loud, transgressive, and start a revolution. References D'Hont, C. (2020). Extreme States: The Evolution of American Transgressive Fiction 1960- 2000. United Kingdom: Taylor & Francis Group. Foust, C. R. (2010). Transgression as a mode of resistance rethinking social movement in an era of corporate globalization. Lexington Books. Guy-Evans, O. (2023, September 21). Narrative therapy: Definition, techniques & interventions. Simply Psychology. https://www.simplypsychology.org/narrative-therapy.html McAdams, D. P. (2018). Narrative identity: What is it? what does it do? how do you measure it? Imagination, Cognition and Personality, 37(3), 359–372. https://doi.org/10.1177/0276236618756704 McRaney, D. (2022). How Minds Change: The Surprising Science of Belief, Opinion, and Persuasion. United States: Penguin Publishing Group. Tankard, M.E., and Paluck, E.L. (2016). “Norm Perception as a Vehicle for Social Change.” Social Issues and Policy Review. https://doi.org/10.1111/sipr.12022. “Upton Sinclair's The Jungle: Muckraking the Meat-Packing Industry” Constitutional Rights Foundation, Constitutional Rights Foundation, https://www.crf-usa.org/bill-of-rights-in-action/bria-24-1-b-upton-sinclairs-the-jungle-muckraking-the-meat-packing-industry.html. Hey there. It's been a minute since I've done any blogging about writing/craft since there has been a lot of excitement over my publication, so I decided I wanted to get back to why I had initially started blogging in the first place. A year and a half ago I threw myself into a rabbit hole - one that had a very lofty goal of using transgressive fiction to intentionally create social change. This is a massive task for something like a monograph, which I kind of want(ed) it to turn into. I started some initial leg work, like, tip of the iceburg stuff, that I wrote a beginning essay on, and presented on at a conference, but then research got set aside for life things and other writing endeavors. I was reminded of it when talking to a friend about narrative identity (future research for this topic) and decided I wanted to share with you the research I have already done. That being said, welcome to my research on creating social change - transgressive fiction's role in shaping past and future revolutions, baby! Revolutions have, historically, been messy. They’ve come at the cost of economic efficiency, trauma, and precious lives, but still, many communities have taken their shots at revolution, hoping for a ‘better’ society. Chirot (2020) says revolutions are “Inspired by ideals that call for the building of a better society by deliberately and quickly changing, at a minimum, key political rules and institutions” (p. 5), and when a group of people agrees on these new ideals, that’s when a revolution may begin. Depending on who you ask, revolutions may be a violent overthrow of government or, maybe more simply, an instrument to combat oppression. Regardless, they require dedication and work in order to succeed. While not the first nor the last, The American Revolution is a world-famous example of this. Starting not even as a revolution, but just a desired reform of the American-British relationship, the tension rose between divided sides in America, turning the conflict into a civil war. Blanco Núñez explains how with American colonial protests turning into battles, outside countries eventually joined the fight against Britain, and it became as much a world war as it was America’s fight for independence (Blanco Núñez, 2018, p. xvii). In the end, the British negotiated a close to the war. John Adams, a leader of the Revolutionary War, did not consider the armies and battles to be the revolution though. In a letter to Thomas Jefferson, Adams wrote: "What do we mean by the Revolution? The war? That was no part of the Revolution. It was only an effect, and consequence of it. The revolution was in the minds of the people, and this was effected, from 1760 to 1775, in the course of fifteen years, before a drop of blood was drawn at Lexington. The records of thirteen legislatures, the pamphlets, newspapers, in all the colonies out to be consulted, during that period…" (Bergh et al., 1905, p. 347). Adams believed writing to be what revolutionized America. It was the educating, the mobilizing, and the inspiring that stirred the people to build what Chirot (2020) called a better society; the bloodshed that resulted was just a consequence of that. Boston Tea Party Ships & Museum (2022) also notes how prose played part in the revolution. General Washington led troops across the Delaware River to attack Trenton in December of 1776 and before battling, the troops were read a passage from Thomas Paine’s pamphlet, The Crisis to inspire them. Writing, it seems, has long had the power to comfort and persuade people. In this paper, I examine characteristics of contemporary transgressive fiction, the process of how minds change, and literature that has made change, to argue how transgressive fiction can be used as a catalyst for future revolution. Changing politics or institutions, something so ingrained in a culture, requires work and time because the social values that some want changed are typically built into systems over time; they are a part of culture, so to change any rules, laws, or codes of conduct, means changing the culture. Culture is defined as the behavior that a group of people learns socially, reflecting the traditions of that people that get passed on from generation to generation (Dirette, 2014; Hofstede, 1997; see also Nasir et al., 2006, as cited in How People Learn II: Learners, Contexts, and Cultures). As discussed in How People Learn II: Learners, Contexts, and Cultures, culture reflects the traditions of people that get passed on from generation to generation. It’s the rules that are understood and are expected to be followed by the group that people belong to. Challenging people to create new rules and systems, especially on a relatively short timeline, is difficult. This is oftentimes where revolting begins. The hope is that a revolution will work more quickly to spark the desired change. To revolt and to drastically change institutions or politics inherently involves transgression, which is the act of breaking a law or code of conduct, so while a revolution includes transgression, transgression does not automatically create a revolution. Breaking social order can be powerful though, and writers have tried to use writing to instigate changes to their societies. One way is by using transgression to call out harmful norms despite backlash from the social majority. Christina Foust (2010) said, “…as scholars and practitioners have figured it, transgression's threat to social order runs deeper than violating the rules and expectations that govern what is normal” (p. 6). Transgression threatens the community because those actions show that social order is fluid rather than fixed like people think. While a multitude of varying definitions grasp at characterizing transgressive fiction, I will refer to Coco D’Hont’s (2020) definition: transgressive fiction is “A historically evolving type of fiction that takes on a specific form and level of importance during specific historical periods, changing along with the extra-textual sociopolitical shifts it explores” (p. 2). She argues that transgressive fiction is not just text that is shocking or has socially unacceptable behavior, but that it develops social ideologies, and crosses between boundaries. Her view, however, claims that transgressive texts simply reflect society. D’Hont (2020) thinks transgressive fiction has the “potential to disrupt seemingly stable ideas, norms and conventions” (p. 5) but that it has “an unclear relationship to social activism” (p. 4). While it does defy society, she does not think, like John Adams does, that it affects society enough to create a revolution. Foust (2010), however, thinks that “transgression typically translates into "resistance" because its actions oppose dominant powers that occupy preferred positions in hierarchies" (p. 11), and this resistance can turn into a revolution. This means that if a transgressive text is strategic, it should be able to influence a culture. Culture, however, is not easy to transform. Culture is the way that individuals learn to exist among others. These mutual understandings get expressed through actions, expectations, and beliefs, and similarities that develop among the people who surround each other is what builds community. With culture at the heart of society, it’s necessary to acknowledge the role that it has in resistance, revolution, and transgression. Culture is reflected in the time period in which someone lives; it’s reflected in what people learn and how they learn (How People Learn II: Learners, Contexts, and Cultures, 2018) and that develops a group identity. McRaney says that an outsider who wants to impose different cultural practices on a group threatens the group’s identity (2022). That’s why many people choose not to adopt new cultural practices because once someone demonstrates behaviors outside of the community’s norms, the person becomes an outsider. Most people do not want to be outsiders. It’s also why changing culture requires specific strategies to effectively work. In her book, Extreme States: The Evolution of American Transgressive Fiction 1960-2000, D'Hont (2020) argues that American transgressive fiction analyzes transgression in its societal context and reflects transgressive dynamics that occur in society, but the writing itself isn’t transformational. To prove her point, she examines five transgressive texts, Fight Club, American Psycho, Hogg, The Monkey Wrench Gang, and Beloved. Four are largely known as transgressive for their shock value and aesthetic characteristics, and one particularly holds significance during a specific historical period and explores extra-textual sociopolitical shifts. She admits the novels push the boundaries of what’s considered socially acceptable, and exaggerate the reconstruction of American ideologies, but since the writing isn’t transformational, they do not lead to concrete revolution. Over the course of her discussion of these five texts, D'Hont (2020) explores a variety of craft choices that these stories employ. I will highlight three of them. One that she brings up frequently across the texts is the use of the body (1) (2). For example, in Fight Club by Chuck Palahniuk, men choose to physically fight each other to express dissatisfaction with their lives and masculinity. Bodily violation is common in transgressive literature, but it makes sense: our body is one of the only things that we will always own during our lifetime and the act of violating a body challenges that or takes it away. This act can symbolize multiple forms of loss that are relevant to a variety of American ideals, making it a strong example of transgression. Secondly, D’Hont (2020) also explores constructed hierarchies through the use of an “other.” In the novel Hogg by Samuel R. Delaney, for example, she describes the character Hogg who is portrayed as physically filthy and running a rape business. His character represents a sharp contrast to typically displayed American values. Thirdly, D’Hont’s (2020) book discusses how the novels explore societal complexities. This includes Edward Abbey’s The Monkey Wrench Gang’s philosophy on anarchism and social margins, and Toni Morrison’s Beloved’s redevelopment of the perception of race and gender, to name just a few. While these three craft choices demonstrate transgression’s role in shaping society, and call attention to situations by creating exaggerated, aesthetic systems where the authors reveal, destruct, interrogate, and reform “the ideological structures of their extra-textual content” (p. 16), D’Hont acknowledges that clear solutions are not typically given and so the stories do not end up impacting social change. While it’s true that the books D’Hont (2020) discussed did not create revolutions, there are books that are recognized as having prompted change. Three of these books include: Rachel Carson’s Silent Spring, Harriet Beecher Stowe’s Uncle Tom’s Cabin, and Upton Sinclair’s The Jungle. These books can all be considered transgressive because of their time-period importance and their defiance of extra-textual norms which shocked and upset people by exposing them to a part of American society that many were unaware of. These books did more, though. Silent Spring wrote about the hazard of pesticides entering the food chain and damaging the environment, which resulted in increased public awareness of nature’s vulnerability, the beginnings of environmentalism, and identifying which pesticides were dangerous (“The Story of Silent Spring”, 2015). Uncle Tom’s Cabin portrayed the evils of slavery and arguably impacted the Civil War by changing popular opinion. Its relatable story transformed slavery from an abstract concept to a real horror and moved society to enact antislavery laws (McNamara, 2020). The Jungle’s story of dreadful working conditions in the meat packaging industry reached President Roosevelt and resulted in the Meat Inspection Act of 1906, regulations on food and drugs, and the formation of the Food and Drug Administration (“Upton Sinclair's The Jungle”, n.d.). These books were able to transgress and transform, showing that it’s possible to use transgressive fiction as a way to revolutionize. Considering stories that have not revolutionized America despite diving deep into complex, transgressive plots, and ones that have, and how fiction can create future revolutions, it’s necessary to consider social attitudes, norm perceptions, and how minds change. All that considered, the following ways are my initial thoughts on how writers can employ the techniques of transgressive fiction alongside the science behind how minds change to use the genre as a vehicle for social change. Unlike the five books D’Hont explores, these three books identified a specific problem. D'Hont’s (2020) analysis said that in her discussed books, “The characters aim their actions at a faceless government but their inability to clearly define the shape of the “system” complicates their ability to overthrow it” (p. 74). McRaney (2022) describes how even if a society agrees on a moral (such as “mass shootings are a problem”), they may not agree on the interpretation of its facts, like what has caused the problem. These disagreements start to divide the society, even on a topic agreed upon, and then people struggle to update their beliefs, even when offered new information (p. 83). By Silent Spring, Uncle Tom’s Cabin, and The Jungle aiming actions and criticisms at a clear system, whether it was companies creating pesticides or producing harmful meat, it was clear who society needed to take down. Critiquing social complexities is an important part of transgressive fiction. Using this characteristic of the genre to create change just requires writers to make some adjustments in order to be very clear so that readers' understandings of the topic, and their anger to propel change align. By making the conflict and opposition clear, it’s easy for readers to understand who to fight. Additionally, effective craft choices in the three books that changed society include relatable characters, which aligns with culture and how it impacts our choices. As mentioned previously, communities are rooted in culture. To stay in our community, we must maintain its cultural beliefs and values or we risk being pushed out. Amidst our efforts to remain in our community and avoid being pushed out, many people adopt the group’s beliefs. The culture that then develops in the group becomes what’s known as group identity (Dovidio et al., 2009; McRaney, 2022; Tankard & Paluck, 2016). In David McRaney’s (2022) book, How Minds Change: The Surprising Science of Belief, Opinion, and Persuasion, McRaney compiles evidence for why minds make decisions based on group identity, why people keep the ideas that they do, and what changes their minds despite group identity. He spends time discussing the process of deep canvasing to explore a method that has worked in getting people to change their minds on typically controversial topics. In deep canvasing, a volunteer speaks to people at their homes with the goal of shifting their minds (for example, having conversations with people on gay marriage beliefs before an election where this is on the ballet). Laura Gardiner, the national mentoring coordinator for the LAB, explained that the first step in this process is having the volunteer build rapport with the homeowner. Then, the volunteer describes his or her own relation to the topic at hand. Finally, the majority of the mind-changing conversation should be based in the homeowner’s own story. The volunteer reflects feelings and asks probing questions that prompt the other individual to reflect. Reflection is incredibly important because providing facts isn’t what changes minds; rather, the person has, oftentimes, never thought about the causes of his or her beliefs before and then realizes what caused the original belief and reconsiders it. By facilitating a conversation that puts the listener in the driver’s seat of a controversial topic and forces them to consider what has caused this belief, the volunteers are able to show that other beliefs do exist. Similarly in storytelling, when writers offering readers a relatable character, writers speak to their readers’ sense of community and identity. For example, in Uncle Tom’s Cabin, Harriet Beecher Stowe wrote a narrative that engaged general readers in something they could relate to. She made her characters seem real, even drawing on factual incidents. By creating characters that readers feel are real mimics a sense of community. Writers then must provide readers opportunities to reconsider their own beliefs and the other possible beliefs that exist. When a reader reflects, writers are able to facilitate change. When Silent Spring wrote about the hazard of pesticides entering the food chain and damaging the environment, readers were exposed to a truth that existed in their own lives. Additionally, when Uncle Tom’s Cabin portrayed the evils of slavery, readers were confronted with another reality that they lived in. The three change-making stories also incorporated positive contact, which is a way to expose people to their adversaries. Positive contact is another mind-change technique described by both McRaney (2022) and Dovidio et al. (2009). When people have positive contact with a group they oppose, the contact can help people learn and understand the group more. This breaks down initial misconceptions, and the new and positive interactions reshape people’s prior experiences and understandings. The positive experience can change people’s minds about the opposing group. Positive contact can be achieved in storytelling through serial writing. The three texts successful at creating change were published in short installments in magazines before full publication in book format. Shorter meant easier to read, and if it hooked readers’ attention, it spread their attention out over time. McRaney (2022) acknowledges that building rapport can sometimes take multiple times. Tankard and Paluck (2016) also explain how individuals’ attitudes tend to develop over a long time and may be tied to personal experience and beliefs and thus can take longer time to change. By publishing writing serially, the readers get multiple points of contact with the characters who, if done right, should give readers realistic insight into a world that will upset their values and cause them to make change. It seems, then, that transgressive fiction should be a great avenue for social change, as its characteristics align well with ways that social change occurs. In order to accomplish it though, it is very important for writers to be very intentional about the ways they craft their stories. One of the craft choices that is common to transgressive fiction that D’Hont points out is the violation of the body. This characteristic offers writers many ways to develop imagery, conflict, and plot, which can be used in the way they identify a specific problem for readers. D’Hont also acknowledges the way that transgressive fiction frequently uses the “other” character. This character-type, paired with identifying social complexities, can also be a part of writers addressing specific social problems, and also a way in which they create relatable characters. The “other” character can also get folded into the writer’s use of positive contact. There is so much more research to be done in order to develop a very specific plan that could use transgressive fiction for social change; however, after my initial research, considering aesthetic characteristics of contemporary transgressive fiction, literary techniques that have seemingly accomplished social change before, and what causes minds to change, I am proposing some craft and structure that can help writers write transgressive fiction with the purpose of not just re-imagining social norms, but also acting as a key point in social activism. This includes: identifying and giving a name to the offender, using characters in a way that both builds rapport and a sense of community, causing the reader to reflect on his or her own thinking, and publishing the text as a series. Transgressive writers can use violating the body, the “other” in the social injustice situation, and the resulting social complexities to drive stories that use methods that change minds and culture. These are just some of the techniques that mirror past efforts in change, and if thoughtfully and effectively used, can most likely support future change. In Mack’s (2011) book How Literature Changes the Way We Think, he says, “The moment when art has come to have a ‘life of its own’ it clearly ceases to be mainly representational. It does no longer mirror the world but contributes to the plurality of the world by its unique form and power of animation” (p. 167). By incorporating elements that re-imagine social rules, create a new, real world for the reader, and force them to reflect on their own thinking, transgressive fiction can become its own life and support people in redesigning the one we exist in. (Other possible techniques based on my reseach that may impact change but not yet discussed include:)
Read about using narrative identity theory in transgressive fiction to create social change (a sequel to this blog post) References The American Crisis. (n.d.). United States: Library of Alexandria. Bergh, A. E., Johnston, R. H., Jefferson, T. (1905). The writings of Thomas Jefferson. United States: Issued under the auspices of the Thomas Jefferson Memorial Association of the United States. Blanco Núñez, J. M. (2018). The American Revolution: A World War. United Kingdom: Smithsonian. Boston Tea Party Ships & Museum. “American Revolution History & Time of the Revolutionary War.” Boston Tea Party Ships, Boston Tea Party Ships and Museum, 19 Aug. 2022, https://www.bostonteapartyship.com/american-revolution. “Upton Sinclair's The Jungle: Muckraking the Meat-Packing Industry” Constitutional Rights Foundation, Constitutional Rights Foundation, https://www.crf-usa.org/bill-of-rights-in-action/bria-24-1-b-upton-sinclairs-the-jungle-muckraking-the-meat-packing-industry.html. Chirot, D. (2020). Revolution as Tragedy. In You Say You Want a Revolution?: Radical Idealism and Its Tragic Consequences (pp. 1–11). Princeton University Press. https://doi.org/10.2307/j.ctvp7d46f.4 D'Hont, C. (2020). Extreme States: The Evolution of American Transgressive Fiction 1960- 2000. United Kingdom: Taylor & Francis Group. Dovidio, J.F., et al. (2009) “Commonality and the Complexity of ‘We’: Social Attitudes and Social Change.” Personality and Social Psychology Review. https://doi.org/10.1177/1088868308326751. Foust, C. R. (2010). Transgression as a mode of resistance rethinking social movement in an era of corporate globalization. Lexington Books. How People Learn II: Learners, Contexts, and Cultures. (2018). United States: National Academies Press. Mack, M. (2011). How Literature Changes the Way We Think. United Kingdom: Bloomsbury Publishing. McNamara, R. (2020). “Uncle Tom's Cabin Made Slavery a Personal Issue for Millions.” https://www.thoughtco.com/uncle-toms-cabin-help-start-civil-war-1773717. McRaney, D. (2022). How Minds Change: The Surprising Science of Belief, Opinion, and Persuasion. United States: Penguin Publishing Group. “The Story of Silent Spring” NRDC, NRDC, 13 Aug. 2015, https://www.nrdc.org/stories/story-silent-spring. Tankard, M.E., and Paluck, E.L. (2016). “Norm Perception as a Vehicle for Social Change.” Social Issues and Policy Review. https://doi.org/10.1111/sipr.12022.
In my recent blog post, 5 Ways to Create Visceral Images in Writing, I talk about the five things I use or describe when trying to evoke strong, emotional images. As a teacher though, I think about how it's easy to say, "Using fruit and describing the fruit creates visceral imagery" but then sill have readers thinking, uhh... I also imagine the many ways people can even describe fruit and have it still be boring.
In my first blog about this, I go over some examples in my own writing on how I employ the strategies I talk about. In this post though I'm going to give a few more examples from books written by other people, and then offer you a free worksheet that will help you practice using this type of language in steps so you can produce a visceral image on your own at the end. Examples
The Road by Cormac McCarthy
Here, McCarthy focuses on landscape and colors to describe the setting. I absolutely love the use of glaucoma because not only is this an unusual word to use here (which grabs readers' attention), but it really does a great job of of poignantly describing exactly what this world is looking like with no guesses.
The Blood Meridian by Cormac McCarthy
In this quote, McCarthy uses such strong verbs like sawed, paled, an deepened. Again, this scene focuses on describing the natural world. By focusing on the nouns (flames, embers, and ground) and what they are doing by using these strong verbs, it's easy to picture what's happening here.
Beloved by Toni Morrison
I love that Morrison says, "Rinse the chamomile sap from her legs." In this quote, she utilizes both the natural world and the body, and words like rinse, sap, and legs really paint the setting and texture. To top it off, we've got "skin buckled like a washboard" and ahh! What a fantastic image. Again, the verbs and the simile! Utilizing language that is surprising (but still makes sense as a comparison) is a great way to create visceral images.
This quote focuses on the body - appetite, breaking through skin, hunger. Imagine what being looked at feels like here. This description is so palpable and interesting. It does so much more than just saying, "But to be looked at was needed." Right? Using the language of the body really amplifies the scene and the craving for human connection.
American Psycho by Brett Easton Ellis
Throughout the book American Psycho, many horrific murders are described, which provides many opportunities for visceral language, especially about the body. In a scene that is both sexual and violent, Ellis uses the destroying of the body to develop his character and themes. The way he describes the body's destruction is also very visceral. As I talked about in previous blog posts, destroying the body is especially transgressive, and now I'm showing you how it's also visceral! This image of a human's meat in someone's mouth is so animalistic that it immediately creates discomfort.
The Worksheet
So how do you write your own visceral language? Language that provides your readers with the exact scene you want? Language that evokes emotion? Language that stands out as breathtaking?
This worksheet quickly reviews the five techniques I use when writing visceral scenes, and then offers scaffolded steps that will help you write your own visceral scene. First you'll brainstorm helpful words to use, then work on writing short scenes.
Download the worksheet below!
If you're interested in sharing anything you wrote, post it in the comments below.
Works Cited
Ellis, Bret Easton. American Psycho. United States, Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group, 2010. McCarthy, Cormac. Blood Meridian: Or the Evening Redness in the West. United States, Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group, 2010. McCarthy, Cormac. The Road: Pulitzer Prize Winner. Ireland, Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group, 2007. Morrison, Toni. Beloved. Spain, Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group, 2006. Visceral: dealing with crude or elemental emotions - Merriam-Webster They say a picture is worth a thousand words – and while we probably don’t need that many words, us writers can use some number of words to create our own pictures (and feelings) out of nothing, which is even better. You don't want just any picture though; you want a picture that is visceral and gripping and to create a gritty, beautiful, and emotional image, you've got to give those gritty, beautiful, and emotional details that will paint that picture you want. These are my 5 favorite ways to create visceral images in writing. 1. Use the five senses Most writing classes and writing advice will tell you to incorporate sensory details. This is how you “show”. This is how you paint a picture with words. This is how you put a reader in the scene, so they’re right alongside the characters. The five senses: Sight, sound, smell, taste, and touch. You don’t let the reader figure these things out on their own, but you guide them. By incorporating these specific details, you paint the exact picture you want the reader to look at. “He let me in the threads of yesterdays.” I used such a small detail like threads to incorporate the element of touch. Also, think about how different this picture looks compared to something like: He told me his memories. What makes the line above more visceral? “You’ve never used your teeth to drink the juice of berries.” I can imagine what it looks like for someone to try and bite down on a berry with their teeth, then swallow the juice, but also imagine the taste of the ripe berries' juice here. Part of this comes down to word choice. Pick one or a few words to focus on that strongly connect(s) to one, or more than one, of the five senses. Your readers don't know anything about the scene except what you show them. They don't know which details are significant or emotional, but by picking senses (or an object that appeals to the senses) to describe in depth, you make sure they do. (Writing poetry will help you practice this, as you'll in some of my examples below see below. You’re focused on way less lines, and really hitting each of those lines home.) 2. Use the natural world The natural world can be beautiful and dark and complex and so many things that can complicate and heighten an image you're creating. While I don't claim to be an accomplished poet (I mostly write and publish fiction), sometimes I write poems. I’m going to share three poems I’ve written because in each of them I incorporate elements of the natural world, and you can see why I did that and how those details create more visceral images. In the first, I reference honey, harvest, and sunshine to work as symbols. In the second, I use twilight, cliff, and night to offer create a strong setting for what is otherwise a piece that doesn’t have a setting (all of these poems are focused on emotions). In the third, I’m talking about lilacs and rocky hills. Most of the poems I write are based on an experience or emotion and they try to recreate that emotion as opposed to tell a story. By using the natural world, I can still create a sense of place, and draw on the five senses (scent, taste, sight, touch, smell). Without saying “this smells like X, or this taste like X,” I still offer those sensory details by just referencing things in nature that inherently smell or taste like those things.
Like I mentioned above, referencing nature sometimes does double duty. It may create a sense of place, and it definitely incorporates sensory details. Not only do these details strengthen the picture I'm trying to create, but these images work to create that crude emotional response in readers. 3. Color (describing colors, sure, but I’m also talking about using grapheme-color synesthesia to write texts). This one probably doesn't apply to most people, but it's definitely in the top 5 for me. Yes, using colors and telling readers what something looks like is great – it’s sight, one of the five senses, but when I talk about creating visceral images with colors in writing, I mean something a little different. I’m talking about a form of synesthesia. Synesthesia is when someone experiences one of their senses through another (like tasting color or seeing sounds). I have grapheme-color synesthesia. This is when someone associates a color with a symbol such as letters and/or numbers. For example, the letter e is a dark, navy blue for me. The number one is a very pale yellow, close to white. The name Justin is a blue. I don’t know why these things are what they are, they just are (and the colors associated may be different for different people). I’ve noticed that my synesthesia affects the things I read and write. I find that I especially love books or stories or poems that use words with strong colors, and when all of the words in the piece tend to lean toward a cohesive color scheme (like the story tends to use words with colors that create a black, red, and silver color scheme or a variety of navies and purples). This probably isn’t anything the writer’s thinking about when they do it, and even if they were thinking about it, they probably weren’t writing words that fit the same colors I see, BUT when it works for me, it really works for me. I also find that when I write, and a piece isn’t working for me, it’s probably because the colors are too loose. I need to tighten up words so they create a stronger color scheme. So this number is a very personal way that I create visceral images in my writing, because it doesn’t apply to most people (unless you also have this). (Side note, I love when musical artists have synesthesia because it’s great to see it in their writing. I also have chromesthesia, which is associating colors with sounds – I use these forms of synesthesia to make really great mix CDs that I’ll eventually write about on this blog). Anyway, here's another poem (because it’s easy to focus on a small, complete text) Worship these wounds at the altar, smeared, tender and sore, and once the sacrifice- a blood war that washes me in memories that bring me back to a time when I should have said yes instead of taking the long way home- is over, we will host a blood drive to share the wealth. And as everyone leaves, admiring their new robes made of crimson, Your Majesty will grin at his sophisticated sense of fashion. Many of the words in here are dark colors for me (which align with the subject matter). Worship, wounds, tender, sore, sacrifice, blood, war, memories, everyone, majesty, and sophisticated are reds, blacks, or blues that are nearly black. Words like alter, back, and admiring are lighter – yellows or browns, but paired with the majority reds and blacks it almost creates a small highlight on the colors. Additionally, my short story “If the Rainbow Exploded” published on PANK leans into grapheme-color synesthesia. This probably sounds wild, BUT I swear it’s a thing, and it’s an element of how I, personally, find writing that feels concise. It’s also probably why I frequently use fragments in my stories because extra, small words (like prepositions and things) add in a whole bunch of extra random colors that don’t work so well. 4. Fruit Fruit, I’ve found, is a beautiful (and easy) way to pull in the five senses, and it also just makes writing sensual. This can lean into sexuality, or not, but I find that it definitely creates visceral images, regardless of the route you’re taking it in. The poem below uses a clementine to really draw out touch, scent, and sight and provides so many beautiful images. Fruits are great symbols, and here, I’m talking about the way that fruit flies are attracted to the fruit, and this image is a metaphor for the dirty nature of having to remove the things we don’t want. Over and over again. Anyway, I absolutely love cheating with the use of fruit, because it can incorporate many senses, can act as a strong symbol or metaphor, and can paint a beautiful, poignant picture for a reader. A sweet clementine feels tough to the soft fingers that strip it, but it’s an easy peeler, yawning open as the finger pulls apart the skin, ready to climb inside, where it’s saccharine, smooth and glossy, and oils scented like fresh suck the palm. Eggs are laid on the surface, feeding on fermentation and swallowing the juice. They pull out suffering from the vulnerability. Hundreds of swarthy fruit flies swarm and infest. Cut out the damaged flesh now. This is the cycle of life. ![]() 5. The body Referencing number two, number four, and the poem above: the body is another way to bring in the natural world, create strong images, and incorporate the senses (think of the colors, textures, and shapes of different body parts. Think of how many emotional experiences we associate with things like eyes, lips, ears, and hands). The body is also so personal. In "Bodies and Permissions: Breaking Rules & Conduct" and "How to Destroy the Body", I talk about all the ways the body can be used and broken to elicit strong feelings (and create social commentary). Consider which body part(s) you want to describe, and which details will help convey the mood you want (the thesaurus can be great!) Even in the poem above, I reference fingers and talk about stripping, and climbing. It’s again an easy way to do double duty and include multiple senses at once. In my short story "Fat Girls" published on Hobart, I use the female body, messages American culture sends about the female body, and the insecurities this causes to write a story. I try to use the way bodies are seen and represented to create memorable imagery that helps convey the story’s themes. It's not a pretty story, but I don’t claim to write pretty stories. The body does give writers many avenues though to paint a strong, meaningful, and visceral picture. Images that use the body well can create substantially thought-provoking content that invites readers to explore its impact (and your theme(s)). If there’s anything you should take away from this: be specific. Each number on this list requires you to be very specific in your word choices and images: What part of nature, what type of fruit, what body part? What is the texture or shape of the collar bone you described? Does describing the collarbone show how poor the person is because they can't afford to eat, or that this person is sick, or has an eating disorder? How does the fruit feel? What does it taste like? Is it pulpy? Do the seeds press hard into someone's fingers? What is the texture of the wildflower? Where is it growing? Why is that significant? What is in your character's garage? Is it an old Santa Claus figuring? Does he have a busted nose? How can you describe that? Once you pick those out your specific words and images, get even more specific in the way you describe their taste, sent, and feel. Do they sound like anything? What do they look like? Make sure the words you use paint this picture (and if you’re so inclined, paint literal colors too for your grapheme-color folk). These are the strategies I use when creating imagery in my writing.
What ways do you develop the imagery in your writing? A few of my writing friends recently pointed out how well I maintain my writing. They said I “keep at it,” and I guess I do. I write most days, but I told them I haven’t always been this way, because I haven’t. I do write a lot now, but there have been periods in my life where that wasn’t the case. I’d go days with struggling. Or months. Or, sometimes, years. After writing for close to three decades, I’m going to share with you what has worked for me when I’ve found myself in an uncomfortable hole, and when I’m feeling not myself because I'm not writing. While some of my ideas might seem basic and common (although I’ll actually tell you how and why to do them), many of the ideas on this list will be new ideas that offer an action plan. They should inspire you, because these will be the things you want to write about, even if you don’t know it yet. 6 Ways to Handle Writer's Block
5. Just do it Okay, so I will steal this one from other articles. But I’ll give you some concrete ways to ‘just do it’, even when you don’t feel like you can. When I realized how much of myself I was missing by not reading or writing for a few years, I decided that it had to change. I needed to write, and regularly. So I challenged myself – to write one flash fiction piece a week. This number was manageable. I could write 1,000 words or less in a week (although it did take time to figure out how to write flash fiction – I had to learn what to focus on in a story since I could *only* write ~1,000 words!). 1. So when I tell you to “just do it”, I also first tell you to give yourself a required word count/limit. This can be flash fiction at around 1,000 words per week, or it might even be less, at 500 words per week. Up to you and your schedule. 2. Then, second, if you’re still struggling with what to write about, I tell you to ask for help. If you’re not sure what to write about – ask other people. This might mean specific story prompts (from the internet, from friends), or it might mean words (I hate plot prompts – they never align with my style, so I find it so hard to use them. I like words. I ask people to offer me word they like, and then I write a story inspired by that one word). Then commit to it. I used to attend a writer’s meetup on Wednesday nights for a year. It was at a Panera Bread restaurant, and I just went and sat by myself and wrote for a few hours and knocked out my once-a-week flash fiction piece. After having not written for a few years, this is what got me back into writing. Having the outside location and other people there with the intent to write really helped me focus. It may have been more difficult to do at home when I was already struggling with writer’s block. 4. Give yourself an audience I wrote a ton when back in high school, because I had friends reading it. I was also posting on websites like Fanfiction or Wattpad. Then I graduated from high school, grew distant from those friends, and stopped posting on sites. I wrote less. When I went back to school for my third degree (Creative Writing), my classes' workshops gave me an audience which reignited my desire to write. Having people I am writing for or who intend on reading has always been helpful for me. Examples Giving yourself an audience can look like finding friends who write and workshopping with them, or finding an online community through social media. It can look like using the workshop’s deadlines to motivate yourself. It can look like using your friends to bounce ideas off of – it doesn’t have to be after you’ve written. When you’ve got writer’s block and aren’t sure where to go, it can be helpful to throw the idea out there and have a friend give you an idea on where to take it that you haven’t already thought of. If you haven’t already, consider joining a Facebook group for writers to start building that community for yourself. Here are some I'm in: 3. Pay attention to everything This includes the notes scribbled on bathroom walls. The Santa Clause figurine inside someone’s open garage. The word that you think is beautiful in the book you’re reading. The misheard song lyric that you think is genius – why did someone else write it and you didn’t? And then you find out that they didn’t write it because they wrote something else and you heard it wrong… so, score! Now it’s yours! That weird conversation you have with your partner on the way out the door. The thing you read in the news that sounded wild and you can’t believe someone did that in real life. All of this is gold. The thing is, most experiences are not completely original. Besides, you can always change some things to make it new, but these experiences give a great place to start when wanting to write very specific details that help build characters or scenes. Examples On my walk today I saw two little girls in cowboy hats playing on the sidewalk with chalk. I’d have never of thought of this on my own, but how interesting. I saw them and immediately came up with character ideas and plot ideas. If I wanted to change it further to make it less specific to that person, maybe it’s one girl. Maybe she’s not playing with chalk but bubbles. Whatever. It’s a good starting point. Even George Saunders used something he noticed in his neighborhood to inspire a story. See the story and his comment about the house he noticed and wrote about here. Most of my stories and characters are a Frankenstein’s monster- they are usually never completely imagined, but also never based solely on one person or experience. Typically, they are made up of some imagination as well as many little people and experiences I’ve met or had in my life. 2. Internet Forums Seriously. Whenever I need any kind of inspiration or information on a topic that I have not personally experienced, places like Reddit or other internet forums are the jackpot. People discuss all sorts of experiences they’ve had on there, which can help when trying to incorporate experiences into your own writing that you haven’t had yourself. Example I wanted an experience with fire because I was writing a scene where I wanted fire to be a symbol. I am not a firefighter, no real experience with it, but a whole bunch of people on Reddit have had an experience, and people on Reddit like to talk about their experiences. I Googled "Weird Fire Story Reddit", and on one post, a few people talked about how the smell of bodies in a crematory smell like steak or burgers being cooked. This gave me something new to write about that I otherwise would have been stuck on. Then the thing that helps me most of all is: 1. Making a document (dun dun dun) Seriously, this might feel anticlimactic, but the biggest thing that has helped me write regularly has been a Google Doc that I created. Whenever I have any type of thing that inspires me (title ideas based off something I heard someone say at the gym, details I noticed on my walk, character ideas because of the person I saw sitting in the car next to me, etc. – really anything you paid attention to up in number 4) I list them in this document. This document has been my writing life saver. When I was working on my creative writing degree and had to write regularly for workshops, I needed many things to write about. I don’t always have things to write about though, and my memory is very bad, so when I had an idea at one point, it’s gone now and I’ve got nothing. This is why this list is great. All the ideas I have had are listed in one place, and if I want to write, I already have the things that inspire me right there. I don't have to wait for inspiration! My Google Doc’s list includes the following categories:
Honestly, this document has been my writing savior because when I want to write but don’t know what to write about, I have a treasure chest of ideas right in front of me. Ideas that I came up with. Things that inspire me. Things I want to write about anyway, so why not do it now? So start your document today, and keep adding to it. Seriously. Then in the future, whenever you want to write something, you'll have a list of ideas. Because writer’s block, to me, is the inability to write. Not knowing what to write about, even if I want to. If that’s what it’s like for you, you don’t need to worry about that anymore! They say that luck is when preparation meets opportunity. That’s how I view writing. I practice. I observe. I read. I learn things from other people. I practice more. I keep this list. And when I struggle with writing and don’t know what to write about, I have my preparation (the list) and opportunity (the desire or need to write), so I just sit down and make it happen. And that’s it. That’s my writing magic. I cheat. I make my own luck and kick writer’s block out of the way. And, surprise, two (simple) bonus ways that have helped me manage writer’s block:
Go for a walk This isn’t original. I’ve seen it on other lists. It probably doesn’t sound especially helpful, right? What does moving your legs have to do with writing? Walking can actually be very helpful, but only if you’ve honed in on observing. Meditating isn’t useful if you don’t know how to do it, right? Same goes for walking. But once you’ve trained yourself to pay attention to everything, it’s one of the best ways to get ideas to add to your list. There are so many interesting details to notice in the world. I also find that when I’m away from distractions and technology, my mind pays attention to those details and thinks a lot of things about them – so I immediately add those thoughts to my list! So get up right now, go on a walk, and notice strange things about your neighborhood's houses, or about someone you pass. Walk down a main road and look at the shops or people driving. Examples There’s construction happening on the main road by my house. I pass it every day on my walk. For a few weeks I noticed the crew had some coolers that they just left on the side of the road that said Do Not Open. I don’t know what story this belongs in yet, but it’s such an interesting detail that it belongs somewhere. So it gets added to my list, and then one day, when I’m trying to figure out what to write, I’ll see that and decide it fits, and it’ll find a home. (The construction guys also left a bottle of Mountain Dew out for a few days. Another strange detail that will get added into some story eventually). Eliminating the need for the perfect story This isn’t for everyone, but this is the final thing that has helped me with writer’s block, especially when tackling a longer story like a novel (which I was never before able to finish). What I mean by that is: I’m indecisive. Picking one plot that gets developed, and having one ending that’s the best… puts a lot of pressure on me, and I struggle with that, because I’m just not a decisive person. So when I decided to write an interactive novel (that I will eventually blog about), I was given so much freedom to be more creative and write shorter, choppier things, but still develop it way more than a short story gets to experience. I was also able to play with four endings. By giving myself this freedom, I felt like I could write about a lot of different things without them having to fit in the way a normal novel would need them to fit. Writing helps. Moving helps. I think more when there’s nothing in front of me and I’m moving and only have my own head to live in. So go on a walk, go to the gym, and figure out ideas you can add to your list that way. I almost never write about my ideas immediately. They get added to my list. It has to be the right time, where I’ve figured out what these ideas mean to me, or have come up with some other idea that it connects to it really well and can be combined. Then I can work its magic. Do you have anything that's worked for you that I missed? Let me know below. |
I'm Shannon Waite and I write stories about norms, characters who break norms, and society's wounds. They're always contemporary, often transgressive.
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