What to Do When You’re Stuck in the Writing Swamp

Los Angeles on Fire

Ah, the dreaded writing rut. One minute, you’re flying high, your fingers dancing across the keyboard, your ideas flowing like champagne at a wedding. And the next? Crickets. The blank page mocks you. Every sentence you write feels clunky and wrong. You start questioning every life choice that brought you to this moment. Sound familiar? Don’t worry—you’re not alone.

Getting stuck happens to everyone. The trick is not to let it derail you. Instead, think of it as a pause, a chance to recalibrate and try something new. Here are some tips to get you out of the muck and back to making magic.

Step 1: Take a Breather (Seriously, Step Away)

When you’re stuck, your first instinct might be to double down, glare at the screen, and force yourself to power through. But sometimes the best thing you can do is… nothing. Step away. Take a walk, stretch, or do something completely unrelated to writing. Bake cookies. Yell at squirrels. Reorganize your bookshelf by color. Whatever gives your brain a break.

Often, the solution to your writing problem will sneak up on you when you’re not looking for it. (Fun fact: your brain loves to work on puzzles in the background while you’re busy elsewhere.)

Step 2: Write the Wrong Thing

Here’s a radical idea: give yourself permission to write badly. Yep, I said it. Write garbage. If you can’t figure out how to make the scene work, write it anyway—messy, awkward, nonsensical. Get the words on the page without worrying if they’re good. Sometimes you have to shovel out the muck before you strike gold.

The beauty of bad writing is that it gives you something to work with. A terrible scene can always be revised, but a blank page? Not so much.

Step 3: Ask Your Characters What’s Up

If you’re stuck, it might be because your characters are feeling neglected. Have you figured out what they want and what’s stopping them from getting it? If not, that might be why the story feels stalled.

Try having a conversation with your character. No, I’m not kidding. Write down their name, and then ask them questions like:

• “What do you really want in this scene?”

• “Why are you being so difficult?”

• “What’s your biggest fear right now?”

You’d be amazed at the answers that can pop up when you stop trying to force the story and start listening to your characters.

Step 4: Zoom Out

Sometimes, being stuck in one scene or chapter is a sign that you’ve lost sight of the bigger picture. Take a step back and look at your story as a whole. What’s the overarching goal? Where are your characters headed? Is this scene actually necessary, or are you trying to force it to fit?

If your current spot feels like a dead end, consider skipping it altogether. Jump ahead to a scene you’re excited to write and circle back later. Sometimes the act of moving forward is enough to shake loose the cobwebs.

Step 5: Change Things Up

When you’re stuck, it’s often because your brain is tired of doing the same thing. So, change something! Write in a different location, switch from your computer to pen and paper, or try writing at a different time of day.

You can also experiment with how you’re writing. Try a new POV or tense. Rewrite the scene from a different character’s perspective, or play around with tone—turn that serious moment into a comedy, just for fun. Even if you don’t keep the changes, the exercise can help you see your story in a new light.

Step 6: Feed Your Creative Well

Let’s be real: creativity doesn’t exist in a vacuum. If you’re stuck, it might be because your creative well is running dry. The solution? Fill it back up. Read a book you love, watch a movie, listen to music, or go to an art museum. Inspiration can come from the most unexpected places, so give yourself permission to soak up other people’s creativity for a while.

Step 7: Phone a Friend (or Pet)

Sometimes you just need to talk it out. Call a writer friend, a trusted beta reader, or anyone who’s willing to listen. Explain what’s going on in your story and why you’re stuck. Often, just saying it out loud will help you untangle the problem.

And if no one’s around? Talk to your pet. Cats, dogs, hamsters—they’re all excellent listeners. Bonus: they won’t judge you when you realize mid-rant that the solution was obvious all along.

Step 8: Remember Why You Started

When all else fails, take a deep breath and remind yourself why you’re writing this story. What made you excited about it in the first place? What do you love about your characters, your world, your plot? Reconnecting with your original spark can reignite your motivation and help you find your way back to the page.

Keep Going

Here’s the truth: every writer gets stuck. The difference between those who finish their stories and those who don’t isn’t talent or luck—it’s persistence. So, be kind to yourself, try a new approach, and trust that the words will come. Because they will.

Now go out there, shake off the cobwebs, and write your way back into the groove. You’ve got this.

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Creative non-fiction break

by Liz Dubelman

When Fires Burn Inside and Out

In the last four years, I’ve been through a lot—Covid, cancer, and now, my city is literally on fire. I’m a calm person by nature (and by prescription, thanks to beta blockers), it takes a lot to shake me. But Friday? Friday broke me.

Picture this: I’m five feet nothing, 62 years old, and usually the queen of keeping it together. But on that day, I was escorted out of Cedars’ Breast Center by five men in bulletproof vests. Oh, and I wasn’t fully dressed—because I had stripped down in the waiting room. Let me back up and explain how I got there.

During Covid, I was one of the few people who kept their mammogram appointment. Everyone else canceled, but I went. That choice saved my life. A sharp-eyed doctor with a hunch spotted my breast cancer early. I was alone for every appointment because of lockdowns, but I got through it. Four years later, I’m still standing and getting checked every six months like clockwork.

When Cedars called to say my usual doctor was on medical leave but assured me I could still get my mammogram and the results while I waited, as usual, I didn’t think twice. Routine, right? What could go wrong?

Friday arrived, cloaked in smoke and ash from the wildfires tearing through the city. The air was unbreathable, but I went anyway. At the center, a young woman who didn’t bother to introduce herself began the usual manhandling of my boobs—but without the grace of even a little small talk. Fine, I thought. Let’s just get this over with.

Then she told me, “You’ll get your results in 10 days.”

Excuse me, what? “No, no, no,” I said. “That’s not what I was told.”

She shrugged and said she’d check with her supervisor. A moment later, she returned: “Yep, 10 days.”

That’s when I snapped.

Still, in my pink gown, I snatched the paper out of her hand and stormed off to find someone—anyone—who could give me answers. On the third floor, I encountered her supervisor, an officious woman who looked down her nose at me and said their policy had changed back in April. Same-day results were no longer a thing.

“What the fuck?” I said. “Don’t you have to tell your patients about a change like that?”

Her response? A scolding about my language. Apparently, this delicate 40-something had never heard the word “fuck” before. She called security and brought in her own supervisor, who was even worse. This woman refused to make eye contact or introduce herself, talking in circles with jargon that sounded designed to confuse. (A “provider” is a doctor—except when it’s an insurance company? Make it make sense.)

By now, I’d had enough of their pink gown (because, of course, it’s pink for girls). I stripped down in the middle of the waiting room and put on my clothes right then and there. Screw it. We all have bodies.

Then Howard, one of the security guards, stepped in. He had kind eyes and a calming presence. He noticed I was recording the fiasco on my phone and said, “Look, a lot of our staff lost their homes in the fires. We’re short-staffed. Can you cut us a little slack?”

That stopped me in my tracks. “Of course,” I said. “That’s all I wanted—a little mutual compassion and empathy.”

A younger guard escorted me to the elevator and apologized. He was kind, too. But by the time I got to my car, I broke down. I cried my eyes out, sitting there with the ash falling around me.

The fire outside wasn’t the only one burning that day. Something in me felt scorched, too. Trauma has a way of piling up—Covid, cancer, the smoke, and the suffocating bureaucracy of a broken system. It wears you down until even the smallest indignities feel like they could break you.

But here’s the thing: I’m still here. I’ll still show up for my next mammogram, for the next fight, for the next chapter. Because that’s what we do—we keep going, even when the world feels like it’s on fire.