Writer’s block isn’t a moral failure. It’s usually a signal. You’re tired, you’re scared of the next choice, your story plot isn’t adding up, or your brain is asking for a different input. If you write fantasy like I do, you’re juggling extra plates. World rules, magic constraints, character arcs, lore, stakes. When any one of those stalls, the whole draft can freeze.
When I’m blocked, I don’t “push through.” Sometimes that works. Often it just makes me associate the project with dread. Instead, I work to figure out what kind of block I’m having, then use the right tool. Each problem requires a different fix. Am I always successful at beating the block? Of course not. But in the trying, I discover new ways to cope and to make my story better.
Figure out what kind of block you have. Most blocks look the same from the outside. You stare at the page, you tidy your document, you suddenly feel the need to research 14 kinds of medieval bread. But the cause of the block changes what will actually help.
Decision
block versus energy block. They’re
not the same.
Decision
block feels like
“I don’t know what happens next.”
Energy
block feels like
“I know what happens next, and I can’t make myself care.”
Decision blocks are often structural. The scene doesn’t have a clear goal, you’re missing a cost, or the choice you need your character to make doesn’t feel earned. Energy blocks tend to result from overload. Life load, emotional load, or the accumulated weight of writing or rewriting a long draft.
Sleep matters more than writers want to admit. If your brain feels like soup, it’s not you being “undisciplined.” It’s biology doing its thing. Until you've rested, thinking and writing are extremely difficult.
Fear block dressed up as craft. Fear is sneaky. You tell yourself you
can’t write the next chapter because you haven’t nailed the magic system. Or
because the midpoint has to be perfect. Or because you haven’t read enough in
the genre this year. It sounds responsible, but it’s often avoidance with a
nicer outfit. You don’t fix fear with more pressure. You fix it with
smaller stakes and faster feedback.
Get moving fast when you’re stuck. When you want out of the stuck feeling
today, here are some moves I reach for first. They’re not glamorous, but they
work for me.
o Write the tiniest version of the next
scene. The stripped-down
skeleton: who’s in the room, what they want, what goes wrong, what changes.
Sometimes it’s bullet points. Sometimes it’s bare-bones dialogue. I’ll even give myself permission to write
a “bad take” in present tense, like a rehearsal. Because the brain relaxes when
it’s not being judged. Then I convert it later.
o Switch modes with intention. If drafting is jammed, I’ll swap to a different mode for 15 minutes to avoid procrastination for three hours. A short, contained pivot. Maybe I’ll just work on making sure the dialogue in a scene is consistent to each character. Or I’ll grab a description and pare or expand it.
o Another way to switch cognitive gears.
Your brain stops
grinding the same stuck groove.
· Examples that tend to unlock fantasy
drafts. Adapt for other genres:
·
Make
a quick list of three rules your magic cannot break. Then break one and see
what the consequences would be.
·
Write
a one-paragraph history of an object in the scene. A sword. A letter seal. A
forbidden herb. Where did it come from and who lied about it?
·
Draft
the argument your villain makes to justify their plan. Not their evil
monologue. Their honest internal logic.
If you’ve been staring at a scene for two hours, your “block” may just be fatigue wearing a mask.
o Try a sprint, but make it specific. Write for 20-30 minutes with a goal in
mind. Or don’t put a time limit on it, but sprint until you’ve reached a single
target.
- Write
only the turning point of the scene.
- Write
only the moment the plan fails.
- Write only the last three lines that force the next chapter.
o
Burnout
and creative fatigue are not necessarily the same as writer’s block. Burnout shows up as irritability,
dread, numbness toward a project you used to love, and that bleak feeling that
nothing you do matters. Creative fatigue is similar, but it’s usually shorter
term. You’re tapped out, not permanently broken.
·
The
World Health Organization classifies burnout as an occupational phenomenon tied
to chronic workplace stress that hasn’t been successfully managed. That framing
matters because it points to patterns and load, not personal weakness.
o
If
you’re drafting a novel while also working a full-time job, your load might
simply be too high for endless output. That’s not a mindset problem. That’s a
brain-capacity problem.
·
Take
breaks that actually restore you. Not
the kind of break that turns into doom-scrolling, guilt, and coming back more
tired. Break with a purpose. A walk. A nap. A shower and an early night. Or a
“play break” where you do something creative with no stakes. Sketch a map. Make
a mood playlist. Handwrite a scene you already love to feel rhythm again.
Procrastination usually has a reason. Most people treat procrastination like the enemy. But when you keep putting off the same chapter, something in you is objecting.
o Common hidden objections
·
You
don’t know what “good” looks like for this scene yet.
·
You’re
afraid you’ll choose the wrong direction and waste months.
·
You’ve
lost touch with why the protagonist wants this.
·
The
scene is doing too many jobs at once. In fantasy, you’re trying to advance
plot, reveal lore, foreshadow the ancient war, and deepen a family subplot, all
in one tavern conversation. That’s a lot. No wonder the page feels heavy.
o Make the next step embarrassingly
small. The trick is
to set a step so small your brain can’t argue with it. This is how you lower
activation energy. Once the engine catches, you can go forward.
·
Name
the scene goal in one sentence.
·
List
three obstacles that could block that goal.
·
Pick
the meanest one and write that moment.
Restarting a stalled draft without hating it. The one that has good bones but makes you wince when you open it.
o Do a cold read like an editor, not a
judge. Open the
manuscript and read 10
pages, tops. Take notes on three things only:
·
Where
you feel pulled forward. This usually means you hit a clean question and
promised an answer.
·
Where
you feel confusion. This usually means
you skipped a step in cause and effect.
· Where you feel boredom. This usually
means the scene lacks a real cost.
o
Write
a new outline from the draft you already wrote. Your original outline is a historical
artifact. It’s not a law. Make a fresh outline based on what’s on the page now.
Scene by scene, one line each. What happens. What changes. What it sets up. This
is where fantasy writers often discover the real problem: the magic rules
shifted mid-book, or the villain’s capabilities quietly changed, or the chosen
one prophecy is doing too much work. Fixing that at the outline level is faster
than rewriting chapters blindly.
o Give yourself permission to leapfrog. Love this part: you don’t have to
restart at the exact stuck chapter. If you know a later scene clearly, write
it. Draft out of order. Write the betrayal. Write the dragon negotiation. Write
the moment your protagonist finally says the thing they’ve been choking on for
200 pages. You can stitch it in later. Momentum is worth a lot.
Resetting creativity after rejection. Rejection hits differently when you’re a creative person. It’s not just “no thanks.” It’s someone declining a piece of your imagination, your labor, and your taste.
o
Let
it sting, but contain it. I’m
not into pretending it doesn’t hurt. It does. I’ll give myself a set window. An
evening. A day. Then I do one small action that points forward. I write one
page of something new.
o
Rebuild
and play. After
rejection, your creative brain often gets protective. It wants to write “safe.”
That’s normal. The way out is to play with boundaries.
·
Write
a flash piece in your world from a minor character’s POV.
· Write a scene that will never go in the book. A funeral. A festival. A private argument.
A practical takeaway you can use today
Here’s what I’d suggest if you’re
blocked right now.
o
Name
the block in one sentence. Decision, energy, or fear.
o
Then
pick one small move that matches it. A skeletal scene plan for decision block.
A real rest break for energy block. A low-stakes bad draft for fear block.
You don’t need a personality
transplant. You need a better diagnosis and a lighter next step. Most of the
time, that’s enough to get the words flowing again.
*****
If you want more craft tools from my
corner of the fantasy world, this blog is where I share more articles and
advice connected to my work as a fantasy author. Check back often or follow me
on social media where I will announce new articles about writing, family, or
kids activities.
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Want to learn more about my books for kids ages 8-12 in the Chronicles of Nadavir series? Check them out:
Deb
Cushman's Chronicles
of Nadavir
Frigg's
Journey to Anasgar
Ping's Mystery in Pixiandria
https://debcushman.com
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