This article is about how to keep the writing flow going, and not get stuck on the “what happens next?” questions. When you get stuck, it often leads to feeling doubtful about your writing, wanting to trash the whole idea, or even wanting to stop writing altogether, especially combined with feelings of imposter syndrome or comparison. Here are some tips to maintain your writing creativity and flow.

Tip 1: Go With the Creative Flow

Sometimes going with the flow of your brain is easier than brainstorming how to continue your writing. If your brain has an idea, try it out! There are no wrongs when it comes to writing your very own creation. There’s always a chance where that idea doesn’t quite fit with what you’re writing, but then you now have an idea to use elsewhere. Give yourself the freedom to try something new, even if it doesn’t turn out one hundred percent. 

Tip 2: Timeline Importance

Having trouble keeping the events of your writing straight? Try a timeline! When it comes to writing novels or short stories, and even poems, it can sometimes be hard to keep track of what should happen next and what comes later. Streamlining everything into a specific timeline can be beneficial for keeping track of all your important plot happenings. Timelines help keep track of your writing progress, make it easier to remember what you want to add next, and feel more accomplished. 

Tip 3: Collect, Collect, Collect!

While reading through a book, article, or other forms of literature, sometimes there’s interesting words or phrases used. Keeping note of these fun, unique words and phrases can help inspire your writing creativity! Also study sentence flow, dialogue tags, or any other interesting elements to inspire your own writing. Of course, when noting these phrases, you should always rewrite it and never copy it in order to remain ethical and not plagiarize. But compiling what you find interesting can be very helpful to get back on the writing train, and grow yourself as a writer. 

Being the only one of a kind

Can be a burden sometimes

But I know

If I go on

The burden will be too heavy

And then I will fall

So rare it is to find a girl

Who’s creativity is flowing

With peace

And laughter

And contentedness

But that is not me

Will it ever be me?

Perhaps in the future

When rarity

Is not so high

Maybe I can be seen as different but

As one of them too

When the time comes

For rarity to fall as I did

Will I miss

The uniqueness

And the quality of being special?

I think I just might

But I might not have to

For rarity lies in everyone

Whether old

Whether young

Whether tall or small

For there is rarity everywhere

Rarity is in the world

Rarity is in that person

Standing on

The beach

Watching the orcas play

Rarity is in you too

Does that scare you?

Do not be alarmed

Because

There is

Rarity in me just like you

And there always has been

You have always been rare

I have always been rare

Your sister

Your brother

Have always been rare

Which now makes me wonder

If everyone is rare

All people that ever existed

In you

In me

In absolutely everything ever then

Is “rarity” rare at all?

There’s no time.

I've got to go.

I can hear his footsteps coming up the stairs.

One... Two... Three...

I freeze. The footsteps stop. I hear a grumble.

“Darn girl. Always leaving her things in the hallway.”

I grab my bag, and toss it out the window,

hoping against hope that it doesn’t make too loud a thud

God must’ve been merciful. It was the faintest noise.

If he catches me leaving... Heaven only knows what he’ll do.

I grab the homemade rope. I’m hesitant to use it, unsure.

Will it break? I pray it doesn’t. God please let me get out of here.

The footsteps resume. Four.. Five.. Six... Then they stop at Caroline’s room.

A harsh knock, and then the door creaks open on rusty hinges.

“If I ever catch your pathetic bear on the stairs again..”

He didn’t have to finish his sentence to hear the threat in his voice.

A shiver ran up my spine. He was feeling generous, if he didn’t punish Caroline

For her mistake. That didn’t make me feel any better. It never did. Because he never changed.

I know what you’re thinking. This man, is he my cruel father? No. My father

Doesn’t know I exist. Or if he does, he’s never cared. Even so, no one cares for the girls.

Not the ones from The Grinarium, house of the orphaned girls of Balenite.

The man in the hallway is one of the caretakers, along with his wife. She is kinder.

I wish she could control her husband. He has never hit us, for the law

Does not permit it. That doesn’t make you feel any better.

You will still feel as though you’re walking on eggshells.

I can hear Bianca snoring in the bed of the room we share.

Bianca and I never got along. So I will not miss her. I do hope she escapes though.

If she doesn’t get taken out by next year,

she’ll either be on her own, or help out at The Grinarium.

One does not wish that fate. But many who choose the former often do not make it. Like Carla.

She left. Promised to write. She didn’t make it a week before she came back. Cold, hungry.

Seven... Eight.... Nine... Ten....

Only Ten more steps until he reaches Bianca and I’s room.

To see if we’re asleep. I have to hurry. He’s doing his nightly rounds. And I’ll surely miss

breakfast, should I be caught.

I hesitate to step onto the homemade rope. Is it sturdy? I should check it again.

My ears are radars for his footsteps. Always.

To not be alert will get you caught.

And I never get caught.

For at 16, I am one of the sneakiest and slyest at The Grinarium.

I have been there, practically since birth.

I do not know who my father is. Not that I care.

My mother was a girl who helped out at The Grinarium. She died during the birth though.

Vater (Which means Father in German) , the caretaker, has always hated me for Rosana.

My mother. I don’t see her that way though.

I’ve never met her, and therefore, all she is

Is a woman I hear stories about.

I don’t know why Vater insists we call him that. He has no love like a father does.

Only hate. I could only assume he intends to make me take Rosana’s place

When I’m of age. But I shall not be left to such a fate.

No. I want to leave Germany. But I do not intend to travel to America.

My goal is to Italy. Where I’ve heard my grandmother is.

I want to meet her, despite the fact she doesn’t know I exist.

Eleven... Twelve... Thirteen... Fourteen..

I have to go now. I finally step onto the rope I've made from sheets and blankets.

Slowly inch my way down. I hop down at the last 3 feet. Grab my bag.

And start running, my footsteps muffled by the soft wet grass.

And finally.

I’m free.

There is nothing left

but dust bunnies

inside this big wide room

Boarded up windows

and echoes of memories

you can't quite reach

Very dull

lifeless

speckled with dryness

And yet

when the moment is right

there is a breeze

Carrying a warm

wondrous scent

of apples and trees

Of berries and bees

of a recognition 

made of you and me

It rustles the 

grayed bunnies

sends them running

Up up up

they float up so high

like real rabbits hopping in the night

You breathe

in and out 

out and in

Clinging to the times

that no longer are

images that no longer be

And watch the dust bunnies

dance in a tuneless move

and feel the commonity turn magical.