I was thinking recently about what to post on Instagram. There are some great sites, full of all things bookish and beautiful. Unarguably photogenic moments, captured from all over the world. Typewriters surrounded by fresh blossoms. Inspiring quotes in exquisite fonts. Slogan coffee cups and notebooks.

Scrolling through Instagram got me thinking: That’s not what writing looks like. That’s how writing feels on a good day. When the writing flows, and you’re carried away on an ocean of urgency, characters become vivid. Images are striking, scents evocative, voices distinct, even the most fictitious locations, absolutely tangible. You’re a fiction-writing, typing machine, born to do this shizzle!

When you get in that good place, nothing can separate you from your work. Once you reach your destination, whether that’s the end of a chapter, a plot-point, or simply finishing a single sentence which has so-far eluded you, nothing feels as good. Seriously. But the reason it feels so good, is due to the hours, days, sometimes even months, when you’re all out of ink.

If Instagram captured what writing looks like, rather than how it feels when it’s going good, we’d be treated to a series of writers sorting through laundry, looking mildly perplexed. Gazing from windows, dwelling on that next paragraph, wondering what to have for lunch. And on a bad day, drawing angry lines through reams of words, wearing last night’s PJs, surrounded by an assortment of illegible, handwritten notes.

But mostly, they’d be scrolling through Instagram, looking at typewriters surrounded by blossoms, reading inspiring quotes, drinking from slogan coffee cups, trying to convince themselves they’ll live to type, ‘The End’. So, in the interests of solidarity, let me share some breakthrough moments:

1 Writer’s Block strikes every single writer, every, single time. It’s the Yin to the writing Yang. Or the Yang to the writing Yin, but either way, it’s what happens. And, I’m here to remind you, you are heading towards the finish-line. Don’t let The Block fool you. Writer’s Block is your chance to critique the work. Wrestle with plot-lines. Revise certain scenes. Deepen your understanding of characters. You might be avoiding the keyboard, but you’re doing the work. You’d just rather be writing.

2 Stare moodily from a window while brewing your Arabica or Robusta. Tell yourself the whole thing’s a waste of time, but as you get re-caffeinated, face it, you’re overreacting. Ultimately, you’re telling a story you feel compelled to share. It’s hard-work, but it’s your work, so admit there’s worse problems than ironing out a plot-line, and remember it’s difficult because you’re committed to making your story stronger.

3 You might have vacated the desk, but that doesn’t mean downing tools. Write down the issues, ask yourself questions. You need to problem-solve, not sulk, to search for the answers. Getting your slump in front of you, means freeing thoughts and isolating issues into something more manageable.

4 Change the scenery. Whether that means braving the elements, working out, or disappearing into a box-set, unplug the engine and put yourself on stand-by. Ideas come from the subconscious, not from your erratic wasp of a mind. Switch-off and notice how ideas spring from ‘non-moments’. It’s no coincidence, Grasshopper.

5 You’re entitled to a time-out. Read. Go to the Movies. Catch up on Netflix. Grab some inspiration*, and remind yourself of what you’re trying to create with your own work. How would you describe the tone of your story? How do you want the reader to feel? Tune into whatever evokes those same feelings, and while you’re analysing, you will become energised.

Annoyingly simple, isn’t it? I can’t tell you the hours I’ve spent, seized by my own word count. I go through the previous steps. Time passes. I remember I’ve got a story to tell… and finally, I face it. You mightn’t know where to start, so start wherever that takes you. Re-read, step back into the story and take advice from your characters.

*Repeat steps 1-to-5 until inspired to write blog post...

(c) Patricia Caliskan