Fix a Stuck Manuscript with One Question

Fix a “Stuck” Manuscript With One Characterization Question

The blinking cursor taunts you as you wonder where it all went wrong. Or maybe it’s a blank page, your pen frozen midline as you come to the conclusion that’s every writer’s worst nightmare–your story is stuck. For a long minute, you consider setting the whole thing on fire or, less dramatically, putting it in the trash can. Unlike Stephen King’s Carrie, though, you don’t think anyone will rescue it from the refuse pile. Your manuscript is stranded at sea, not a single breeze blowing to catch the sails of your writing muse. Bland, boring, blah, the thing is dead in the water–and you don’t know how to resurrect it.

We’ve all been in the dreaded “stuck manuscript” ordeal at some point in our writing careers. No matter how many books I write or how much I advance my craft, it’s inevitable that sometimes a manuscript stops flowing. When that happens, I usually talk myself out of the trash can solution pretty quickly–and then ask myself what to do next. Let’s face it: a stuck manuscript is never an easy fix. Or is it?

The Question to Dislodge Your Work

Over my eight years in the business and countless stuck stories, novels, and articles, I've learned there is one effective question you can ask when facing a stalled manuscript: What’s at stake?

At first glance, this question seems simultaneously too simple and ineffective. After all, if your manuscript is stuck, shouldn’t you be examining the plot? Isn’t that why you can’t figure out what comes next? However, I’ve found that in most of my situations where a block stops my writing, the problem isn’t actually in the scene itself at all. The problem arises because I haven’t sufficiently answered this question or I’ve lost sight of the answer.

If you’re writing an effective story that engages and offers the reader a true journey, there has to be something for the character to lose. If there’s nothing risked, then there really is nothing gained by the reader. What’s the fun in a story if there isn’t anything at stake?

Each genre and each trope has its own basic-level answer to this question, of course. In horror, the character’s life is at stake. In romance, it’s their heart. In historical fiction, it could be that life as they know it is at stake because of a major event. But in order to have a deep, complex work, the challenge is that you have to go deeper than surface-level tropes. You have to dig into the character’s life, motivations, fears, and challenges to sort out what else is at stake. Then, once you have that figured out, the key is that you have to leave a breadcrumb trail in every element of the book for your reader to follow.

If you look at all the literary masters, you’ll find there’s a well-founded, intriguing set of stakes that permeates their works. In William Golding’s Lord of the Flies, survival is inarguably at stake for the boys on the island. As you read, though, you understand their boyhood innocence and perception of mankind is also what’s at stake; at the allegorical level, Golding seems to argue that humanity’s pureness of heart is at risk as well. It’s no surprise he had such a daunting view considering the post-WWII era he wrote in.

Additionally, there’s Cormac McCarthy’s The Road. This juxtaposition of poetic beauty and an apocalyptic, dusty wasteland again touts the stakes of survival in the harshest of climates. However, McCarthy showcases a more emotional set of stakes as well; will there be a world worth leaving behind for the boy, and will the price of survival come at humanity’s core values? These stakes run through the opening scene to the famous Coca-Cola scene seamlessly, keeping the flow of the book and the tension going.

In my own books, I’ve found the prized value of the question: What’s at stake? My USA Today Bestseller with HarperCollins UK, The Widow Next Door, features a lonely widow who has a lot of secrets. When new neighbors move in, it becomes unclear which character can be trusted. With the horror undertones, it’s clear that lives are at stake. But mid-way through writing, I knew there needed to be a stronger sense of risk for the widow especially. Morbidly, she knew she was near the end of her life anyway. What else could I risk for her? What would make the reader feel that sense of urgent danger?

Thus, I introduced the mysterious kitchen door in chapter one. It becomes clear through the scenes that it isn’t only her life she’s afraid of losing–it’s her reputation. There is some sinister secret hidden behind that door she will protect at all costs (and I do mean at all costs). 

This solution also works in romance novels as well. I was writing my romantic drama Remember When and realized I was stuck at about 20,000 words. The book follows a married couple who is stranded in a blizzard in their car. The book is about survival–but when the book was as frozen as the setting, I realized the problem. I’d lost track of what was really at stake for the main couple. It wasn’t just about surviving…it was about living. My characters were terrified because they felt like they had left life pass them by. The real answer to the question was that my characters were terrified of not leaving a solid legacy behind–and if they died, they wouldn’t get to fix it.

From Stakes to Unstuck

Stuck in the middle of your manuscript, you’re sold on asking the question: What’s at stake? In fairness, let’s face it. You’ll try just about anything at this point to bring the magic back. But how do you go from the question to the words flowing again?

When you ask the question about what’s at stake, you’ll come to one of the following conclusions:

1. You know what’s at stake, but the scene isn’t contributing to it.
2. You never really figured out what’s at stake.

The first answer is arguably the easiest to swallow. In this case, you still have to make a choice: you can either cut the scene because it’s not adding to the plot or you can sort out how to connect the scene to what’s at stake. Typically, just by changing my vantage point from the plot happening to the plot revealing the stakes, I can spot the problem with my flow. If I can’t, though, then I force myself to face the facts; no matter how much I want to write that cool scene, it might be bringing my manuscript to a halt because it doesn’t actually belong. 

What if you realize at 20,000 or 40,000 words that you never sorted out what was at stake? Well, step one is to stay calm. Trust me, it’s better to sort this out now. You can’t have a proper climax to your novel if you don’t know what’s at stake–and worse yet, if your readers don’t. This is the time, I would argue, to really sort out what your character is risking. If they aren’t risking anything, figure out what they could be risking. What could they lose? Can you take that loss up another level? How can you make that loss so intriguing and terrifying, your reader can’t help but stay glued to the story?

Once you have an idea, then you can go back and revisit your story from that vantage point. By rereading and rewriting from a perspective of what your character has to lose, it becomes so much easier to infuse interest, tension, and suspense into even the flattest work.

It’s never easy admitting your manuscript isn’t living up to the hype you felt when you started writing. However, by asking this one simple question of your characters and delivering on the reveal to your reader, you’ll guarantee that your book shines with intrigue. So gather that manuscript from the trash can. Stop fearing the blinking cursor. Take a deep breath, writer, and know that you’ve got the right question to ask now.