Tackling the Dreaded Block

Writer’s block can have a devastating effect on those of us who write for a career, and those who write for pleasure, finding it a release from the daily grind of modern life. Like many of us, I have several stories gestating in my head at any given moment, so selecting a character from the many chatting amongst themselves, awaiting selection, should see to it that I’m never short of inspiration – right? Well, not really. At least, not all of the time, for there are occasions when creative motivation withers … when the river runs dry and there’s nothing among the debris left behind that stirs my imagination into producing anything other than a few scraps of material that rarely fit the bill.

If you’re currently suffering the same fate, please don’t think that you’re alone, for virtually every writer – professionally or otherwise – who I’ve spoken to about this has experienced the soul-crushing reality of being unable to find the right words from the uninspiring rubble on offer at that time. We sit behind the wheel of that bloody car we thought we knew so well, but it suddenly feels alien to us, and when turning the ignition, it splutters into some sort of action, only to stall moments later, stubbornly refusing to burst into life and take us to where we want to go. And it may continue to sit in the driveway for far longer than we could possibly have imagined.

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The Opening Chapter

The opening chapter is an important opportunity to set your stall out in non-fiction and establish what it is that your book is all about. It should be clear in its intentions and set the reader on the path that you hope they will see through. A more formal Introduction might be chosen for this purpose instead, but if omitting this, the first chapter, while establishing that road map, should be enticing enough that readers elect against bailing out of your book and hopping into another. To use a foodie analogy, it can be seen as an appetiser tasty enough to persuade the diner to progress to the main course and dessert, instead of encouraging them to walk out without paying, while regurgitating a less than satisfactory entrée.  

Fiction, I believe, can be a different proposition. As with non-fiction, the opening chapter can act as a strong marker for what will follow as the story unfolds, or it may throw the reader a creative curveball in appearing to establish a fairly prescribed path, only to veer off onto another that takes them in a totally different direction. Personally, I prefer the latter, providing that change in direction seems viable and hasn’t been crowbarred in, to insert a twist that falls flat on its face.

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Working with Victims of Trauma

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Revisiting an Old Friend

Thirteen years ago, the first book I worked on – Beg, Steal or Borrow, the authorised biography of Babyshambles – was released, and my freelance writing career was set in motion. For the two years prior to that, I had the unbridled joy of balancing night work at a media monitoring firm and spending time with the nation’s hottest, most chaotic indie/rock band as they rode numerous waves of controversy, due in large part to the media obsession with frontman and vocalist, Mr Peter Doherty.

Time and Space

Allowing a manuscript time and space to settle is a fundamental component of the ghostwriting process. Building a solid structure upon which the manuscript can thrive is, for me, a necessarily painstaking task, and the writing itself can hit some speedbumps, when things don’t quite sit right on the page. Minor deviations on the planned route to completion are absolutely fine, expected, and actually welcomed, should they result in a stronger story that looks even better than planned and communicates all that the client desires.  

Another essential part of the process is deliberately distancing myself from text for a period of time, in order for it to settle, and to return to it with a fresh set of eyes, so to speak. Not only do any typos/mistakes become more obvious, but any problematic sections of the text itself are apparent. It’s a bit like watching a film for a second time. Unless you’ve got a tremendous ability to recall pretty much every scene, character arcs, and twists and turns in the plot (I certainly don’t), there’s a good chance that parts of the film will appear fresh – unseen, even – and the same process applies to ghosting. I’ll remember most of the client’s story, but other elements feel less familiar, and it’s often here that I find finesse is required.

Rewriting is so much easier than the process of laying down a first draft. Even with a roadmap to follow, finding the right tone isn’t an entirely straightforward procedure. I need to echo the client’s voice, if memoir, or find the best characterisation, if fiction, and this requires a great deal of thought and reflection; and, sometimes, heading down a few blind alleys, if material doesn’t work. With a rewrite, however, most of the hard work has already been done, and there’s an opportunity to identify and bridge any gaps, and maximise the manuscript’s potential.

It’s like that expression: being too close to something. When you’ve engrossed yourself in a particular project, its flaws aren’t immediately obvious, so time and space help to highlight defects. Another means of achieving this is when other people read the piece. With my own work, it’s something I do regularly, as alternative perspectives often open up other avenues for further consideration. My readers might identify areas of plot that could be improved upon, or turns of phrase that don’t hit the spot.

As a ghostwriter, this isn’t something I’ve done with other people’s work very often, as confidentiality is paramount, and I would require the client’s permission to allow somebody else to take a read. Sometimes, I’ll suggest a client asks their friends to read their manuscript and feedback their thoughts, but for the most part they want to keep the material between us both, which is why our collective judgement is so important to improving the manuscript as it stands at that point.

I try and leave text to settle for a good few weeks, if possible. It isn’t always, as I may be on a deadline, which is where years of ghostwriting experience come into play, and a nose for identifying the weaker aspects of a project are required. So even if you aren’t able to give a piece of work as long as you might like to settle, at least a little distance will undoubtedly help when preparing to deliver the final product.