Welcome, fellow Awkwardeers!

I’m so excited that Captain Awkward, whose work I adore and have studied closely while developing my own advice column, has kindly linked to Story Hospital. I love the Awkwardeer community (shout-out to my buddies on the Friends of Captain Awkward forum) and look forward to some of you joining the Story Hospital community as well! Please do read the archives, visit the Patreon page, and leave your own excellent advice in the comments; and of course you’re very welcome to ask me questions.

Cheers,

Story Nurse

#10: Finding Your Story’s Voice

Dear Story Nurse,

I’m struggling with voice on this particular project. The protagonist is a Yankee girl in the South during World War II. It’s a young adult historical fantasy and I want the character to sound young and naive, but without alienating the likely older-YA readers who will pick up the book. Over the course of the book, she should grow up quite a bit and confront her own assumptions and mistakes, but at the beginning, she’s off-putting to readers. I can’t tell if this is on me (the voice just isn’t working for whatever reason) or if it’s uncomfortable/unusual to have a bubbly almost stream-of-consciousness female voice in a historical fantasy and that’s what is throwing my beta readers off? I’ve tried rewriting the beginning of the novel differently but I keep coming back to the original version. Thoughts? Thank you in advance!

—Katie (they/them)

Dear Katie,

Thanks for writing in. This is one of those questions that’s hard to definitively answer without seeing the manuscript, so I’m going to noodle around some ideas about what might be going on here, and some of those ideas will be useful to you and some won’t. Fortunately, saying “Nope, that’s not the problem I’m having” can be its own kind of useful troubleshooting sometimes, and I hope it is in this case.

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#9: You Are Your Own Muse

Dear Story Nurse,

So, I have no problem writing anything that can be done in one sitting (once I’ve chased the brain weasels off and started typing, that is). I can do some good work in micro and flash fiction and I’m trying to stretch things out. You said some really good things earlier about tying pieces together with plot threads and those were really helpful, but I have a somewhat different problem: If I have to stop, I find it really hard to pick the thing back up again. (My writing time is necessarily fragmented, with job/commute/parenting. I write when I can.)

It seems that I don’t know how to pick up the mood/action of the story and carry those words further out. Note that this only seems to happen with fiction writing: class assignments were easy to pick back up, and most essays are easy to pick the thread back up and carry on with my work.

I have a good idea for a story, I can make decent headway, but once I stop, I’m doomed. How do I restart the engine?

Please Story Nurse, you’re my only hope!

—talkendo (they/them)

Dear talkendo,

Thanks for bringing up this problem, which I think is a pretty common one. It can have a few different causes, but the one I see most often is a sort of writerly centipede’s dilemma. Something about the process of sitting down to add more words to a half-written work makes you very aware that you are writing, and then you get self-conscious and either feel blocked from writing at all or dislike everything you try to write.

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#8: You Are Not Your Work

Hey Story Nurse,

I’ve been dabbling in writing since I was 14, and now that I graduated university I decided that it was Time To Get Down To Business. The problem is, whenever I sit down to write anything, I always feel terrible about it once it hits 10k. It’s not that I lack confidence in my writing skills (I studied English lit), but it’s more that I worry that no one in the world would ever want to read my story. Who cares about a novella with two girls trapped on a lonely planet?! How can I get rid of that self doubt? Because I know I want to read that story, and I know that there is such a big market for stories casually featuring queer girls, but I just can’t seem to make the cognitive leap from “people like stories about queer girls in space” to “people will like MY story about queer girls in space”.

I’m going to a retreat for 5 days next week, and I really want to work on this story, but I just feel like I need to find some CONFIDENCE!

Thank you so much for your time,
Space Lesbian (she/her)

Dear Space Lesbian,

I’m sorry I didn’t get to respond in time for your retreat, and I hope it was very helpful to you one way or another. Sometimes sitting alone in a room with your work and no other distractions is the best way to figure out what’s really keeping you from writing.

In this letter, you talk about yourself and your work as though they’re one and the same. One moment you say you don’t think anyone will want to read your work, and the next you say you doubt yourself. Your identification with your work is something I see a lot of in students and recent graduates, because school is a place where you as a person are judged by the quality of your work in a way that’s pretty psychologically terrible. We say that a person is a “straight-A student” when what we mean is that that person’s work is consistently evaluated very highly by their teachers. The person, as a person, does not directly get graded. But that’s how it feels—that the grade for your work is the grade for you.

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#7: Working on Broken Drafts

This question came from the priority request queue for $2+ Patreon patrons. Thanks for your support, letter writer!

Dear Story Nurse,

Most of the writing I do these days is scripts for a video essay series I do on YouTube. These essays tend to be between 2000-5000 words, and I am trying (on occasion, successfully) to release one every month. I am quite happy with how the series has come along, and I think I’ve become pretty good at both drafting and revising my scripts to a point that satisfies me.

The big exception is when I grow too attached to a draft that isn’t working.

My current example: I started the script for my next video about nine months ago. I was tackling a fairly complex subject that was hard to make any single, definitive statement about, so I opted to write the script more as a series of micro-essays—taking one facet of the subject, writing 1-3 paragraphs about it, and then tackling another, related subject, in the hopes that viewing it kaleidoscopically would help viewers understand the complexity of the subject.

In the end, that structure didn’t work. I didn’t have as much to say as I thought I would, so I didn’t have enough angles to “come at it from many angles.” But what I’d written was arguably the best individual paragraphs I’d ever written, and, as I tried to start over, I found it very difficult to let go of all these well-written, standalone passages. After trying to restructure the essay into something more linear and thesis-based without changing too much of the text, I shelved the script and worked on something else.

Several months later, I came back to it, with some better ideas about how to structure it, but I still couldn’t let go of a lot of the text, which didn’t fit well into the new structure. And when I tried to write new text that adequately fit the structure, I felt it didn’t meet the quality of the old draft. So, again, I shelved the script and worked on something else.

Months later, I’m finally finishing the script, and did manage to let go of a lot while keeping some of my favorite bits, and the whole thing is working a lot better. But the only way I’ve managed to let go of the old drafts has been to repeatedly step away for months at a time, which is at odds with my attempt to keep a schedule. Each time it’s a struggle, because I have to find a way to get excited about the subject all over again. I also worry that I’m overthinking things; if I had simply made and released the original, kaleidoscopic version of the video, would anyone but me have been bothered by its structure?

This is my most extreme example, but I run into this problem fairly often. So I suppose this is a two-part question:

A) Broadly speaking, do you have any advice for letting go of drafts that you are happy with when you recognize that, in a fundamental way, they don’t work?

B) More specifically, do you have advice for either polishing an imperfect draft or swiftly gutting and rebuilding it when you’re trying to meet a deadline? Does the advice for A) still apply? Can it be adapted? And how do you get yourself re-invested in a subject that’s giving you trouble when you don’t have time to switch to a different topic?

—Old Draft Romantic (he/him)

Dear Old Draft Romantic,

I think every creative writer has some version of this question sooner or later—and it’s usually sooner, because this is one of those skills that you have to exercise to make it stronger, like a muscle. Over time, as you write more, you will learn to recognize which ideas can be developed easily, which can be developed painstakingly, and which can’t be developed. And you will learn more about your own process of development, which will help make both easy and difficult development go more smoothly. I can give you some suggestions and shortcuts, but they’re no substitute for practice. So keep going with your writing and don’t give up, even when it gets discouraging! As you persevere, you will become more discerning and more efficient, and “waste” less and less time. It’s not really wasted, because you’re building your skills, but it can feel that way if it produces work that’s not usable for a particular purpose.

Let’s talk about that purpose.

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