Courageous Writing - Eight ways to get out of your comfort zone

The new things, the interesting things, the surprising things all wait for us just past the familiar and safe. The only path to fresh knowledge and understanding is on the other side of what’s expected and accepted.

But it’s a lot easier to fall back on cliches. Language is rich in similes and metaphors that get a head nod, but never touch our hearts. The same for all the characters (some offensively stereotypical) who have popped up in stories with no effort at reimagining. Throw in (or better throw out) all the car chases, first kisses, explosions, and pies in the face that could have been grabbed from 100 other stories and substituted in without calling attention to themselves.

Besides, the price the writer pays for cliches is low, and short cuts can be very tempting to writers who are discouraged, lost, or under pressure.

Resolve to pay the price. Don’t ruin your stories because you lack the commitment or courage to make them your own. Reach beyond exhaustion and fear and discomfort to create something wonderful.

How?

Write what you don’t want anyone else to read. - Some of the most disturbing stuff we have access to is deep within ourselves. If you don’t want to share it, it will take courage to do so. But it will probably provide fodder for a story that has more to offer. Many writers who journal have access to lots of thoughts and experiences that fit here. If you don’t my 50 Rude Questions post might prompt answers that fit this category. Especially if you are good at follow-up questions.

Set high standards. - I tend to alternate between classics and contemporary works when I read. This helps me to recognize quality writing. Not surprisingly, much of the impact of fine stories comes from making insights and deep truths clear and emotionally resonant. It is not unusual for me to read such work and to conclude the author had (or has) courage that is rare. (They certainly cover issues that would take me out of my own comfort zone.) Such examples both become references (did I go far enough?) and models for my own work.

Know what you avoid. - This may be the most difficult. Dodging truth can become a habit. Facing truth can be painful. Armor can get so comfortable, you forget you’re wearing it. Reading the work of others critically, imagining scenes pursued further, can help create questions and checklists to analyze your own work. I’ve actually found that I am more alert to dodging when I read the work of peers, so I collect questions and comments aimed at helping them bring more meaning to their works, and I bring those to my own drafts.

Write until you get an aha. -  My usual practice is to get three to five beats per scene. Since I’m looking for conflict in the scene and a shift in power for each beat, this often pushes one of the characters into something unexpected. I call those surprises ahas, and they frequently take me into subjects that challenge me be being taboo or beyond what I assess to be my normal skill set. But sometimes the scene has no ahas and nothing very courageous. So… I may continue writing the scene. Often I do this in revision, keeping the tension high and making the characters more demanding until one of them blurts something out.

Go there. - Sometimes, you stumble upon a possibility that is absurd, unbelievable, naughty, uncouth, or politically incorrect. These are easy to dismiss. Blink and they’re gone. Don’t blink. Don’t give yourself reasons not to explore them. Don’t put off the journey. Jump in, make mistakes, scramble, respond — to these gifts from your muse — with full commitment and no holds barred. You may end up with useless pages. You may end up with something special. You’ll always finish your writing session with more power and capability as a writer.

Give the story its dignity. - Important subjects find their ways into stories. These can touch on the issues of the day, on critical life decisions, on tragic mistakes, and life-changing experiences. Never trivialize them (what Gardner calls the sin of frigidity). Traumas that have wounded fellow humans deserve time, space, thought, perspective and emotion. They should not be mentioned as a way to justify a character’s behavior. They must be more than plot devices. Do them justice. It is likely to lead to challenging, difficult work and, perhaps, memorable scenes. But taking care of these elements also shows respect for those who suffer misfortunes.

Take a stand. - If you’re a people pleaser, this is tough. Creating conflict and inviting arguments probably are not your thing, so there’s a tendency to always add, “on the other hand.” This is the rhetorical version of adding junk words (somewhat, nearly, about). Limiters don’t add clarity, they just hide strong words. Not taking a position hides strong, well-argued opinions. Sadly, readers react to evenhandedness with “meh.” But a clear statement that is backed up, is apt to be found engaging and received with respect, even by those who disagree.

Write in a different voice. - This is my fall back position. It never fails me. I have a collection of very different writers whom I respect, and I can step right into their styles and perspectives and take no issues that terrify and dismay me. If you can do this, it’s provides something marvelous in terms of getting past your inner censors to dig into subjects that are difficult. (After all, it’s not YOU writing it.)

It’s fine to wait until a draft is done to make it fresh. There is value to be found in inserting placeholders to maintain momentum all the way to “the end.”

I believe in stage fright. I believe in wincing. Getting too close. Being so emotional, it’s frightening. The minimum for any scene I write is that I get so jumpy writing it that I have to abandon the keyboard and walk around. Tears and laughter are better, but if I don’t a least have a moment where I’m overwhelmed, the pages need revision or deletion.

There must be danger.