Writers live in their heads a lot. It’s part of the job, imagining revealing dialogue, location layouts, the clothes your character must wear, and why a character refuses to travel or love or die.

In addition to imagining, there is calculating. How long would it take to ride a horse from an imaginary town to an imaginary home, and what kind of horse is it? Are there places to spend the night? How much does that cost? Is there someone who would give your horse water and food if you had no money? Are the streets or country roads safe to ride? How much would a horse cost in the year 2150?

Perplexing problems, such as why did I make this character so old (or so young), and should I change the setting or the year to better accommodate the protagonist’s lack of education, and what would it mean to all of this character’s relationships if I did change one of those important structural pillars?  These questions need answers, solutions.  And they are there, inside your head.

How do you allow these solutions to rise up from their synapses and gray matter into the light of discovery? The answer to almost all writing questions (and life questions) is ‘take a walk’. When walking, you are obliged to get out of your head. Look at the sky, the trees, the birds. Breathe deeply. Listen to the traffic, the wind, the waves, your footsteps, the sounds surrounding you. Note what you smell. Touch the plants and trees you walk by.

Walk, walk, walk. Leave your troubles and your questions on the path you tread. Let your mind do its thing and all will be revealed. You can’t force it, but the answers are there. Let them bubble up like spring water, gently rising to meet the surface. Then return to your desk and write, write, write.

Repeat as needed, at least once per day, every day.

See you next space…