Okay, let’s talk about that all-too-familiar “I’ve lost the fire for this story” feeling. Not writer’s block, exactly. I’m talking about the specific kind of stall where you’re not stuck, but you’re just…meh. Your WIP starts feeling like the literary equivalent of lukewarm coffee, and suddenly every shiny new idea looks way more fun.
I’ve been there. Oh, have I been there. There’s a corner of my hard drive I lovingly refer to as “The First Draft Graveyard.” It’s full of stories that didn’t make it past 10k words. First chapters? I’ve got hundreds. Opening scenes? I could wallpaper my office with them. And while that might sound productive (look at all those starts!), it’s also exhausting to pour your heart into something, only to abandon it for the next sparkly idea, only to abandon that, and so on. Rinse, repeat.
So, how do I keep myself from jumping ship now? How do I stay in love with a story long enough to see it through? Here’s what’s working for me—and hopefully, it’ll give you some ideas for your own WIP commitment issues.
Linear drafting? Couldn’t be me. If there’s a scene living rent-free in my head, I write it right now. If my brain is screaming a piece of dialogue at me like a toddler demanding snacks, I write it. I don’t care if it’s supposed to be in chapter one or chapter twenty-one. I go where the motivation is hot, not where it’s “supposed” to be.
Yes, this leads to a hot mess of a draft that’s more patchwork quilt than polished manuscript. I have scenes I later cut because my bratty characters staged a coup and changed the entire plot (thanks, guys). But none of that work is wasted. Every word I write—whether it survives or not—teaches me something about my characters and their world. It’s like getting to know a friend better. Even if that scene never makes the book, the knowledge stays. And the real scenes, the ones that stick, are stronger for it.
Here’s something I wish I’d learned sooner: you don’t have to flesh out every scene when you first write it. If all you’ve got is the dialogue? WRITE THE DIALOGUE. Skip the descriptions, skip the internal monologue, skip all the beats and tags if you want. Just get the bones down.
You can always layer in the muscle and skin later. But if you wait to make it perfect in draft one, you’ll lose momentum. Think of it like scaffolding—you’re building the structure so you can come back and decorate it later.
Somewhere along the line, I stopped expecting my first drafts to be pretty. My latest manuscript? Every single chapter is basically a skeleton of plot beats and raw dialogue, with some vague stage directions thrown in. It is messy.
But here’s the magic: now that I’m editing it, I already know the characters inside and out. I know their voices, their fears, their future arcs. Revising this skeleton feels less like struggling and more like sculpting—I’m chiseling away the rough bits and adding texture where I need it. It feels intentional, not chaotic.
So if your first draft looks like Frankenstein’s monster? GOOD. That’s its job.
This one might be controversial, but I stand by it: if you’ve got a scene in your head that makes you feel something—even if it doesn’t belong in the book—write it anyway.
I’ve written entire scenes that I knew I’d never use, simply because they gave me the warm fuzzies. Maybe it’s a “what if” moment. Maybe it’s a character backstory that’ll never show up on the page. Who cares? Writing it makes me love the story and its characters more. And when I love my characters, I’m more likely to stick with them until “The End.”
Perfection is a buzzkill. Passion is the fuel that will get you through the swampy middle of your book. Every time I start obsessing over “fixing” something in my draft, I remind myself: you can’t revise a blank page. Get it written first, get it good later.
When you feel your interest waning, write the scene you want, not the one you think you “should.” Chase the energy. Find the sparks. They’re there—you just have to stop worrying about whether they’re “in order” or “useful” enough.
Sometimes, even with these tactics, I still need to woo my story like it’s a reluctant cat that doesn’t trust my intentions yet. When my WIP starts giving me side-eye, here are my go-to creative ways to fall back in love:
Music is my time machine into the emotional heart of my story. I’ll spend an hour combing through Spotify to find that song—the one that makes me feel like I’m in my characters’ heads, the one that sounds like heartbreak or victory or the exact flavor of angst I need.
Suddenly, I’m itching to write again, because now I can feel my story’s vibe pulsing through my earbuds. Bonus: when I hit a tricky scene, I’ll put that one track on repeat until I’ve wrung every word out of my brain.
When I get stuck, I pretend I’m hosting a talk show in my head, and my characters are the guests. I’ll ask them questions like:
“What’s your most irrational fear?”
“Who would you die for?”
“What’s your toxic trait?”
Their answers often surprise me (because, yes, my brain makes them sass me back like real people). And once I’ve heard their side of the story, I usually have fresh insight that makes me want to write again.
This is my guilty pleasure: diving into Pinterest and creating mood boards that feel like my story’s soul on a page. A gorgeous dress that looks like something my heroine would wear? Pin. A stormy alien sky that reminds me of my book’s climax? Pin.
It’s like feeding candy to my creative brain. By the time I’m done, I’m practically clawing my way back to the keyboard to bring those images to life.
Here’s the thing: writing a novel is like dating your characters. Sometimes you’re head-over-heels, sometimes they annoy the crap out of you. But if you stick with them, dig deeper, and give yourself room to write imperfectly, you’ll find the love again.
I’m proud of my graveyard of false starts, but I’m even prouder of the messy, stitched-together drafts that made it past the finish line. The secret? I stopped treating first drafts like novels, and started treating them like raw, unfiltered discovery.
So, if you’re feeling the itch to cheat on your WIP with a shiny new idea? Here’s my challenge:
Write a bonus scene.
Blast your story playlist.
Interview that bratty side character who keeps stealing scenes.
Make a Pinterest board that makes your heart pound.
Do something—anything—to remember why you fell in love with this story in the first place.
Then, when you feel that spark again, go type the next sentence. Just one. Then another. Before you know it, you’ll look up and realize that story graveyard can stay closed a little longer, because this one? This one’s worth fighting for.
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