4:00 a.m. Writing by Andy Scheer

What do you do with a nighttime idea?

The wind woke me at 4:00, rattling the downspout outside our bedroom window. I tried my usual methods to get back to sleep. Then it happened: I got an idea for my writing.

Like an itch I couldn’t reach, the idea grew. Fresh examples and new sentences kept tumbling out. I didn’t want to loose them.

Would I still remember them when the alarm sounds?

Either I’d stay wide awake – mentally writing and editing – or I’d drift off, and at dawn the ideas would have faded.

Time for my standard solution. I reached the stack beneath my nightstand page-a-day calendar, found one of my favorite pens (a subject in itself), and slipped into the glow of a bathroom nightlight. A few minutes’ scribbling preserved the hook, opening sentence, and key examples. Enough that my mind could relax.

Not quite. Back in bed, ideas kept rushing though my brain. Again I checked the alarm: 4:30. This isn’t working.

I rolled out of bed and slipped on my glasses, ready to tiptoe downstairs.

“Are you going downstairs to read?” my wife said.

“No. To write.”

And I did.

I’m Stuck; Let’s Take a Walk by Andy Scheer

When my wife got home from teaching, she asked how my writing day had gone.

I’d finished five of seven daily devotions. But I had no idea what I’d write for the final two.

With a few days to meet my deadline, I knew what to do. I suggested we take a walk.

As we headed on a loop that takes forty-five minutes, we discussed her day, what I’d written, and our weekend plans. Much of the time we simply walked.

All the while, my subconscious considered my writing project.

Halfway through the walk, the first concept came. I silently worked through how I’d develop the illustration and tried several lead sentences. One down, one to go.

Ten minutes later, the second idea came. I repeated the process, reviewed the earlier idea, then described them both to Carol. If the ideas were too far astray, she’d tell me. And describing them relieved my fear of forgetting before I could commit them to writing.

A few minutes later we returned home and I headed for my computer. I’d gotten some exercise, reconnected with my spouse, and planned my next day’s writing. Pretty good for a short walk.

Late-Night Writing by Andy Scheer

I hadn't planned to work on my novel's opening chapter between 3:30 and 4:30 a.m.

But I woke up, my mind filled with questions about the story's maguffin – the item my characters would pursue.

I'd thought everything was in place. But yesterday evening I began re-reading one of my favorite mysteries: Curses! by Edgar Award-winning novelist Aaron Elkins. Early in the story Elkins makes sure readers grasp the rarity of a pre-conquest Mayan codex.

No lights flashed as I read that chapter, but my subconscious mind took note. At 3:30 I woke up and began considering what my Professor Hastings had packed into his Gladstone bag. For readers to understand why two criminal syndicates were after the bag, I had some to do some explaining.

And that means further research into two obscure subjects. Then I'll simply have to figure out a way to convey that information without intruding into the story.

Maybe that will come at 3:30 next Saturday morning.

Take a Break by Andy Scheer

Sometimes the best technique when you’re stuck in a writing project is to step away from the keyboard.

I spent much of last month performing a heavy edit on a large nonfiction project destined for self-publishing. The content was deep and theological — often supporting positions I didn’t. Worse, the writer was not a polished communicator.

Most days I found I could track the writing for only a half-hour before I stopped being able to disentangle his prose.

So I applied the strategy I’ve learned with jigsaw puzzles. When I can no longer make sense of a particular part, I get up, stretch, and switch to another side of the table.

Not all of that works with a writing project. If you’re stuck in chapter 7, it’s hard to skip to 17. But it sure helps to get up, stretch, and allow your mind to attend briefly to something else.

One of my techniques involves music. Not only do I play instrumentals to help me concentrate, I play it in a format that forces me to get up often.

While the LP in LP records stands for long-playing, they usually provide no more than 25 minutes on a side. Perfect timing for getting up, walking to the record player, and flipping to side two or putting the album away and deciding which to listen to next.

A minute or two later I’m back at the keyboard — and the solution to the next sentence seems obvious.

Don’t have a turntable? Then keep a cup of your favorite hot beverage next to your screen and force fluids. You’ll have to get up often, and the ideas will also flow.

Don't Rush It by Andy Scheer

With the deadline approaching, I drew a blank. More troubling, I didn't know why.

For the past year as a columnist for the magazine, I've been able to count on a topic occurring in time.

But Monday, three days before the deadline, my mental cupboard was still bare. And other commitments for the next two days would keep me away from the keyboard. So I threw myself on the mercy of the editor and asked for a week's extension.

No problem, she said.

Even with the deadline pressure relieved, nothing came to mind. I told myself I'd write it the next Saturday, and I turned my mind to other projects.

Thursday the topic arrived in my email in-box—twice. Two distinct news items converged to illustrate a development of interest to the column's readers. I knew what I'd write about on Saturday.

But I forgot to tell my subconscious. About 2 a.m. Friday I awoke, my brain racing with ideas for how I'd develop the article. If I wanted to get back to sleep, I had to record those thoughts. I took a sheet from a page-a-day calendar into the bathroom, turned on the light, and filled a page.

Saturday morning the notes on the back of the Dilbert page still made sense, and the column's text fell into place.

Next time the ideas don't come, maybe I'll trust that I simply need to wait.

Writing Dreams by Andy Scheer

I planned to write this first thing Monday morning—expecting that would mean about 8 a.m. Instead I sketched it about 2:30 a.m.

It made sense to jot some notes then, because I'd just been dreaming about writing.

Actually I dreamed about editing, but it morphed into aspects I could teach to writers.

No, I didn't eat anything strange before bedtime (unless you consider pilot crackers strange). But I had spent an hour that evening reading a recently published general market novel—one I had edited for the author six months earlier.

I struggled to stay inside the story. Instead I kept looking at details of the craft and hunting for changes the New York house had made to my work.

In my dream an editor called me to task for something I'd overlooked. In this paragraph I allowed the same word to be used three times, when the author could have made the point more effectively with synonyms.

Guilty. In my list of problems to address while editing, that one doesn't rank at the top. And in the novel's first paragraph, the final editor had corrected one instance I failed to catch.

So I'm adding that to my list of points to teach others and to apply myself. It won't happen again—in my dreams.