“How to Write” Fiction. Based on a True Writer’s Block.

“Let yourself hurt, and then when it’s time to stop hurting, let yourself move in to another phase-whatever your body and soul needs to feel.” -Elsa Kennedy

“How to Write”

Fiction. Based on a True Writer’s Block.

By Willow

This journal entry is inspired by true events. Some of the characters, names, businesses, incidents, and certain locations and events have been fictionalized for dramatic purposes. Any similarity to the name, character or history of any person is entirely coincidental and unintentional.

Trigger Warning: our program often motivates people to discuss their trauma. If you find yourself feeling overwhelmed, please, take a step back to address emotional flashbacks and trauma before continuing to push yourself. If you are experiencing a medical emergency, call 911 or the National Suicide Hotline at (1-800) 273-8255




You don’t know how to write.
Let’s tell the story differently:

Dorothy followed the red brick road
to a tower, she’s not a liar,
she just wanted to lay down.
The prince was found, then he fell
off the tower; she’s not a liar.
Still they blamed her.

It’s fiction, but there’s something real.

You see yourself in Dorothy’s eyes;
the story plays out in your coffee cup,
but you don’t know how to write.

Greet your character, get to know her.
She’s her own, but kinda like you,  
she wants to write you.
It’s fiction, but its freedom.


You have something to say,
more than a pretty face,
but you forget how to write.

Sincerity feels wrong; you’re afraid to say
you drink your coffee black and
watch black and white reruns.
You use an old, beat up spiral notebook
as you try to find words:

Alice loved the Hatter deeply,
so she drank the tea laced with poison-
she wasn’t afraid to die in Wonderland.

It’s fine.

You’re not sure how to write.
Greet the Hatter and sit to teatime,
ask him why he poisoned her.
He’s your darkness.

It’s fiction, but there’s something real.


Aziraphale likes cocoa hot
and you wonder about marshmallows.

You don’t know how to write;
the petrichor outside,
you kinda miss it.

Take a deep breath and start hoping
someone finds your thoughts beautiful.

There’s a story and a main character,
you have a beautiful tragedy in mind
full of thorny flowers and a love like a sword.

It’s fiction, but it’s freedom.
It’s fiction, but it’s true.

Would you finally say something?
Would you say something and listen?

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