The Great Unblocking: On Dealing With Creative Blocks

I haven’t experienced a significant creative block in a long time. I think because I have so many dang strategies for moving through and past it. I might feel “blocked” in the moment, or even for a few days. But nine times out of ten, all I need to do is put my butt in the chair and write, and the water starts flowing again.

But the last two years have been hard for a lot of people. I’ve read about writers who stayed blocked for all of 2020 and into 2021, and didn’t write for nearly two years. I know writers who were blocked for a month or two months or three. I know writers who got blocked when covid started, and are still there.

Abraham Piper recently released a tiktok video about how creativity comes in waves, and how that metaphor makes it easier to think of a block as being the low point before a new wave of creativity comes crashing down. Or something like that.

Which got me thinking about my strategies, and I realized that I don’t apply strategies willy-nilly. I have specific processes for determining which unblocking strategy to use and when. Which then led me to trying to outline my system so that perhaps I can use it more effectively next time I feel blocked.

And I’m putting it here because it might also help someone else.

I have a four-step process, that looks something like this:

1. Determine the type of block.

2. Select strategy for dealing specifically with that type of block.

3. Do the thing.

4. Rinse and repeat as necessary.

The rinse and repeat is really necessary, because I can often be plagued by than more than one thing at a time, so sometimes it requires multiple steps to clear out the blockage. And some of these strategies I now engage in on a regular basis, whether or not I’m feeling blocked, because on-going maintenance is good for avoiding coming to a complete standstill.

Types of Writer’s Block

In my experience, there are three types of writer’s block: Emotional, Intellectual, and External.

(As an aside, I experience the same blocks in all of my creative life, whether I’m drawing or playing music or whatever.)

Emotional writer’s block is when you can’t write because of internal forces—mainly, the way you feel. It might include being anxious or stressed, feeling overwhelmed, being sad, being distracted by good things, feeling like you just can't, imposter syndrome, feeling worthless or as though your art is worthless, ADHD, depression, physical pain, lack of sleep, period moodiness, certain medications which affect your mood, and any condition that has an impact on how you feel.

Intellectual writer’s block is when you have a problem you can’t solve, usually relating to your work or story. It might include things like not knowing where the plot goes next, feeling like your character is behaving inconsistently, feeling like something is wrong with your book but you don't know what, knowing you need to do more research but you don't want to or don't know where to find the information you need, wondering if this project really fits into your business plan or not—any problem that requires using your mind to overcome.

External writer’s block is anything happening to disrupt you over which you have no or limited control. It might include things like loud kids, a jackhammer outside, the dog barking, your house needing to be cleaned, your full time job or spouse needing attention, your printer not working so you can't print your manuscript, phone calls—pretty much anything not writing-related that is vying for your attention.

Understanding potential causes of your writer’s block is helpful because not all strategies work equally and their effectiveness depends on the problem. Locking yourself in a quiet, peaceful room won’t help if the problem is that you’re feeling lonely. Drinking a cup of tea to relax won’t help if the real problem is that you have no idea how to fix a plot hole. Going to a coffee shop to work won’t help if you’re upset because a close friend just died.

In addition, some of these problems may overlap. Lack of sleep might be making it hard to solve a plot problem. Physical pain might mean you have more doctor’s appointments. Feeling sad about a family death may also lead to more phone calls, therapy, and more chaos in your house and life.

But at least trying to pinpoint and identify what is causing your block will give you a starting place from which you can begin to find a solution.

Selecting & Engaging A Strategy

If you absolutely know what type of blocking you’re experiencing, then pick a strategy and go for it. If it doesn’t work, try something else. At this point in my career, my strategies tend to be the same most of the time: mute discord, go to a different room, or pick a different project to work on.

Unfortunately, the problem with selecting a strategy can have some complications.

For example, let’s say your problem is loud kids. Here’s the thing: you can’t get rid of your kids. So finding space and quiet to write is more of an ongoing, long-term project. It might mean renting office space, or setting up a quiet corner in your basement, or setting up “writing time” where the kids have to read quietly while you work. It might mean scheduling the babysitter once a week so you can go to a coffee shop.

And what solution you choose will depend on your life, needs, resources, and specific situation. Not everyone has the money to rent an office, for example, or the space to set up an office in their home. Not everyone has the means to hire a babysitter for the purposes of peace and quiet.

So some of these challenges might take a while to figure out, and sometimes, the answer is simply waiting—putting a project on the backburner until you have the mental, physical, and emotional space to engage with your creative self.

In addition, sometimes the blocking is multi-layered. You may find quiet space to write even with your kids around, but what if you run into a plot problem? Or what if you sit down and discover that you’re sad or lonely? Getting rid of one type of block may simply reveal another.

This is where maintenance comes in. You can engage in unblocking activities even when you’re not feeling blocked. Think of it like running draino down the sink once a week (or once a month) even if you don’t have a clog. It’ll clear up some of the build-up in the pipes, decreasing the chance of you getting a clog at all.

Maintenance strategies will vary from person to person, of course, and will depend on the types of blocking you experience most often. For me, I mostly experience emotional blocks and occasionally intellectual ones. I live a quiet, introverted life with no kids, so external blocks are kept to a minimum.

A few maintenance strategies I engage in: going to therapy, reading books on writing, reading books on self-help, exercising as much as I can, trying to eat food that feels good, taking time to relax, going for regular walks, engaging with the writing community on a regular basis, doing art and playing piano, leaving myself space to think about things that are upsetting me. Consistently and regularly working on strategies to improve myself, my mind, and my emotions. Exploring philosophy. Giving workshops on writing, attending conferences, and supporting other writers.

All of these things help keep potential blocks from creeping in. And while sometimes blocks do still occur, they’re usually smaller, easier to clear out, and less frequent.

Rinse and Repeat

I think it can often seem like “If I just get past this creative block, I’ll be fixed!” but that’s not really the way it works. Like Abraham Piper said, it comes in waves—bursts of creativity and low lows both come in waves. So, in my opinion, it’s better to be prepared when the next bout of writer’s block comes knocking than to be knocked over and unable to get back on your feet.

Becoming and staying unblocked is an ongoing process, one that you will likely deal with over the course of your life to varying degrees.

The thing I like to remind myself when I’m in the middle of one, no matter how long it’s going on, is that when I look back at previous blocked periods, I came through every one. Every one ended. And so I choose to believe that this one will end too.

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On Absurdism: Part 4

When a waterfall of pain starts in your abdomen and sparkles up through your chest and down into your legs, it’s easy to wonder, “Why is this happening?” And of course, there is a scientific explanation for such an occurrence, if your doctors are smart enough to figure it out. But when people ask “Why?” I think more often they are asking a metaphysical question—Why does this happen to anyone ever? Why is this happening to me? Why exactly does the universe or god or whatever great intelligence I believe in think that this is okay? Why can’t or won’t they fix it?

Absurdism, however, offers something different. Freedom from the why.

On one hand, thinking it doesn’t matter (everything is meaningless, after all) can seem overwhelming or depressing. But on the other hand, it frees you from thinking about this question at all.

“Why is this happening?” becomes irrelevant. All that is relevant is, “This is happening, so what are my options for moving forward?” And you could argue that even this line of thinking is more-or-less irrelevant, in the grand sense. (Though, how you move forward absolutely does matter in the immediate and personal sense.)

Of course, freedom from the why doesn’t also equal freedom from the irritation, the anger, the frustration, the sadness, the grief, or whatever other emotions might be wrapped up in moments of pain.

But it does create a parallel between you and literally everything else in the universe. A connection point.

Though, my dog might actually be wondering why he isn’t being petted right now…

A tree doesn’t sit and wonder why humans are cutting it down or why the universe would allow such a terrible thing to happen. (At least, I imagine this is the case—I suppose it is possible trees have this sort of intellectual capacity and we just don’t know it.) The tree doesn’t wonder why its roots are rotting or fungus is infecting its trunk, or why the sun hasn’t come out in weeks. Deer don’t wonder why their water tastes like poison or why they’re being shot by a hunter or eaten by a wolf. Grass doesn’t wonder why the blade of the lawnmower slices its head off every week (or every three weeks at my house lol), dirt doesn’t wonder why it’s being torn up to make it easier to plant seeds, seeds don’t wonder why they’re being coated in pesticides, bugs don’t wonder why they are dying when they eat a plant that should be a perfectly acceptable food source to them.

Not wondering about The Meaning saves a lot of time and energy for a different kind of wondering, about more interesting things. Like wondering at the way the light shines through the leaves of the tree creating gently dappled shadows below. Or at how the lightning sparkles and lights up clouds the size of mountains with every bolt. Or at how big the sky is compared to a human, and the size of the universe as a whole. Or wondering about how time works. Or at the fact that somehow, all of infinity fits in the area of a circle where r = 1.

The why becomes less and less interesting, and the what is becomes more so.

For me, I find this process also helps with processing loss and death. No longer does it matter why Deidre died. Or why my grandmother died. Or why anyone died.

All that matters is that they did. And it’s okay. And my pain and sorrow and loss is okay too. I can look back and see the fullness of their life, no matter how long and short—I can see that they were. And they always were, and neither time nor death nor lack of meaning can take away their existence or the impact they had on my life.

I can see all of who I knew them to be, and keep my vision of them close. I can celebrate who they were, treasure who they were, and remember them as I knew them to be.

And I can leave the agony of why behind me and live in the comfort of what is.

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On Covid Again

Almost a year ago, I wrote an article titled On Covid.

The first paragraph went like this:

As of today, over 10 million people in the US have had the disease, and almost 250k people have died from it. Even if you love conspiracies and are like, “that’s not true, only 50,000 people have died from it!” or whatever number you’re throwing around—it doesn’t change the logic. Because those lives were still important. They were still somebody’s child, somebody’s parent, somebody’s grandparent. And there are a lot of them.

This year, I’d like to write the same post, but from the perspective of a year removed, and from the perspective of someone who is done with conspiracies. No longer will I entertain them. Too many people are dead.

As of today, nearly 50 million people in the US have had COVID-19 and 757 thousand people have died from it. Three times where we were at last year. 5 million people worldwide have died. 5 million! And 250 million people worldwide have gotten sick. These numbers, to me, are nearly unfathomable. Staggering. 32k people in the state of Pennsylvania alone (where I live now) have died. And researchers are suggesting that half of the people who get covid will deal with long-covid symptoms to some degree.

Half. Which means that if you get covid, you have a 50/50 chance of long covid.

This year, we also have vaccinations to measure. 193 million people in the US have been fully vaccinated. Vaccines for children were just approved by the FDA. But we’re still only hovering around 58% vaccinated in the country—and only 53% in my county, compared to the 61% state average. Half.

It isn’t enough. At this rate, there will be no herd immunity. Only wave after wave of variants. We’ll need new vaccines to combat the new variants. All those pandemic apocalypse movies are coming true. It’s just slower than we writers like to imagine it. Like a slow-motion tsunami, so huge you can’t hope outrun it. A nightmare from which there is no escape.

And the people most disenfranchised by society—disabled people, people of color, people without homes, people who are poor—they’re the most at risk. They are taking the brunt of this catastrophe.

And I’m tired. It’s a different kind of tiredness than I’ve experienced in my 33 years. I’m tired of feeling like other people don’t care. Of going to the grocery store and being the only person wearing a mask. Of feeling like I have to defend my choices to not attend large gatherings—or even small ones. I’m tired of feeling guilty for not spending time with friends. For not having the courage to go out and make new ones.

I’m tired of explaining that no one is entitled to my presence. Not in regular life, and certainly not during a pandemic. That I am not obligated to risk my health and well-being, nor to risk someone else’s health and well-being, just for “together” time.

I know that others think holidays are important. Traditions are important. Families are important. Friends are important. But not more important than staying alive. And there are other ways. Letters. Zoom. Small gatherings outdoors. But it seems that precautions have been thrown out the window. I get dirty looks for using hand sanitizer in the grocery store.

And every decision involving other people requires a magnitude of mental math. Calculations upon calculations. What is the risk? What do I want? What are the options? How important is what I want to do compared to the risk? Are we in a surge? What do hospitals look like right now? How are vaccines coming along? I’m vaccinated—are they? How do I know? What are my health concerns? What are theirs? Am I putting them at risk? Should I get tested? Do I quarantine? Before? After? Both? And if I do feel comfortable, where does my comfort end? How do I set boundaries? Does the situation offer me the ability to back out if I feel unsafe?

I’ve experimented with my comfort zone. Tried out things I thought would make me uncomfortable (hint: they did). I’ve skipped events I really wanted to attend. (Yes, it made me sad.) I’ve had in-depth conversations about the risk and other people in my life’s comfort with engagement.

The math is exhausting. And the problem is that there’s no single equation I can run. There’s no right answer. There are too many variables and they’re always changing. Most of the time, it’s easier to just stay home.

And yet… every week, it seems the pandemic is creeping closer. In the early days, it was four degrees of separation between me and a person who’d contracted the disease. Then three degrees of separation. Then two degrees. Now it’s one degree. Cousins. Friends. Other writers I know.

And I can’t help but wonder: when will it be me?

Sneak Peek at She-Bear

Today I have for you a juicy little tidbit—a sneak peek at my newest fairy tale, titled She-Bear.

This fairy tale is based off a highly disturbing Italian fairy tale (do not recommend, also TW for assault, gaslighting, manipulation), but the one piece of it that stuck with me was the theme of transformation, and being in control of our own transformation. That is pretty much the only piece of the original I kept—that and the bear.

The book will be available in the next week or so, so stay tuned, and enjoy!

She-Bear Sneak Peek

Etele thought the classroom she worked in possessed the best view in the whole school. A river flowed at the bottom of a gently sloping hill, and great mushroom trees, draped in the orange and yellow colors of fall, leaned over the water. They swayed gently in the breeze, their pitted late-season caps casting dappled shadows below, and the rays of sun which sneaked through made the water glitter and shine. Blue vines of the teleris bean snaked up the mushroom stipes, accented by the bright green flowers of late autumn.

Beyond the mushroom forest she could see the curling spires of the town center, painted in vivid designs. And beyond that, though Etele couldn’t see much further, she knew the forest stretched on and on, with a few fields planted within. It was the most peaceful place in the world, and Etele loved days like this one—with a calm breeze gently rustling the leaves, a cerulean sky, and birds chattering their pleasant song. The classroom’s lead teachercalopened the classroom windows, letting in the sweet scents from outside. The kids were in a great mood too, happily playing games, working on crafts, and learning math and reading.

“What’s that word?” Maeve gazed up at Etele with big eyes. Messy blonde curls feel around her pale face. She held a book on her lap and was pointing at a line at the bottom of the page, with an illustration of a regal-looking brown bear drawn above it.

“Can you try to spell it?” Etele asked, smiling down at the child. She knew she wasn’t supposed to have favorites out of all the kids in the classroom, but she’d known Maeve and her younger brother Lazlo since they were born. Not to mention, Maeve was sweet and smart and funny. It was hard not to like her best.

“L-E-A-R-N,” Mauve spelled out. “Lee-air-en?”

“It’s a hard one isn’t it,” Etele said. “It’s pronounced ‘learn.’ You know that word, don’t you?”

“Learn!” Mauve exclaimed, a broad smile crossing her face. “It’s spelled stupid, don’t you think?”

Etele laughed. “Keep reading.”

Feeling warm and contented, Etele surveyed the room around her. Several children played with blocks in one corner, and the teacher, Ms. Volk, helped a small group with their math homework. Their community was small, with only about ten children per class, which meant they could provide them with close, personal instruction, as well as put effort into understanding what each child enjoyed and excelled at.

A small bank of computers sat against the far wall, but they rarely used them. The community tended to avoid most technology, and only kept a few tools so the students could have a basic familiarity with what existed, in case they ended up living elsewhere as adults.

Etele’s eyes flicked to the door of the classroom, where Natali was walking by—her oldest friend, whom she met when Etele’s family had first moved to this planet nearly twenty years ago. Natali was the only one who didn’t call her names for being alien. Though, by now, the other villagers had become used to her family’s presence for the most part, so name-calling, bullying, and similar incidents were rare.

Natali winked at her, and then vanished down the hall. She helped a different teacher with older kids, but they still managed to see each other every day.

Etele turned back toward Maeve, who had just flipped the page in the book she read, but was distracted as a knock came on the doorframe. She glanced up, surprised to see her father standing there.

“I’ll be right with you.” Ms. Volk placed a coloring book in front of another child, and gave a few simple instructions.

“Dad?” Etele frowned. Her father was a scientist and medical technician; he never came to the school.

He gave Etele a grim look and strode over to the teacher, hissing something in her ear, clearly unwilling to wait for her to complete her task.

Ms. Volk’s face turned white, but swallowed, took a deep breath, and calmly faced the students. “Class, I believe it’s time for a walk outside. Would you like that? Please form a line.”

The children all exclaimed excitedly. They leaped up from their chairs and hurried toward the doorway, apparently oblivious that something wasn’t quite right.

“Dad,” Etele asked again, her eyes flicking back and forth from his face to the teacher’s. “What’s happening?” She stood and rushed over to him.

“You must go, now,” he hissed, gripping her arm tightly. “Get the children out of the school, to the shelter in the woods. To the city, if need be. I’ll find you when I can.”

“The city?” Etele exclaimed. The city was miles and miles away, a three-week journey by foot. Shorter if they used vehicles, but she didn’t know where they could get a bus on such short notice. The community didn’t rely on vehicles for nearly anything. Her town lumped vehicles into the same category as computers; they kept a few around for educational purposes, but mostly used non-motorized wagons pulled by mules.

“Be safe, Etele.” Her father pulled her into a hug, and was gone.

“Come children!” the teacher called, clapping her hands.

Etele took up her place at the end of the line, feeling her heart pound in her chest. What was going on? Something they didn’t want to tell the children, but which was worrisome enough for evacuation. The community here was small, and crime rare. Etele couldn’t imagine what could be happening to cause this response. As soon as she could find an opportunity, she would ask Ms. Volk. But for now, she needed to focus on her primarily responsibility—herding children.

Teachers and students crowded the hallways as they filed calmly toward the doors. Etele saw Natali on the far end of the hall; their eyes met, but Natali only shook her head. She didn’t know what was going on either. Etele’s classroom was in the center of the school, and all the other students leaving their classrooms blocked the exits. The children laughed and chattered, excited to see their siblings and other friends in the halls in the middle of the day, but the teachers’ faces were grim.

“Ms. Volk,” Etele called, pointing to their left. “Perhaps we can go through the gym?” The gymnasium had doors on the far side which led out into the fields behind the school.

“Yes,” Ms. Volk replied, leading her line of students into the large room. Their feet echoed, and while some of the children laughed at the suddenness of their changed schedule, others had sensed Ms. Volk’s concern and were beginning to ask questions.

“Etele, what’s going on?”

Etele felt a small hand grab her own, and looked down to see Maeve gazing up at her with big eyes.

“I don’t know, sweetheart,” she replied. “Follow Ms. Volk and I’m sure it will work out okay.”

“And what if it doesn’t?” Maeve asked. She glanced over her shoulder. “Where’s Lazlo?”

“He’s with his teacher,” Etele reassured her. “We will find him as soon as we can.”

“No.” Maeve frowned. “I need to find him now.” She released Etele’s hand and sprinted across the gym.

“Maeve!” Etele called out. “Come back here!” But the child ignored her. Etele met Ms. Volk’s eyes in a silent request for permission.

“Go get her,” Ms. Volk ordered.

Etele nodded and chased after the child, who had already burst through the doors back into the hallway.

“Maeve!” Etele called. Students and teachers now mobbed the hallway, all trying to exit the school. “Go through the gym,” she suggested to a nearby teacher, who nodded, and began to herd their class through the doors.

Etele dodged the small bodies, weaving in and out. She could see Mauve’s pigtails ahead of her, but the child kept just far enough away that Etele couldn’t grab her. Etele watched as Maeve’s hand latched onto Lazlo’s wrist. He glanced up with a broad smile, surprised and pleased to see his sister.

“Come with me,” Maeve ordered her little brother.

“Lazlo, you need to stay with the class,” Lazlo’s teacher called out, seeing what was happening.

“I can take him,” Etele said. Maeve was a stubborn child. She wouldn’t leave her brother behind. “I’ll keep them together.”

The teacher nodded once and turned her attention back to the rest of her class.

“This way.” Etele frowned at Maeve. “You shouldn’t have run off like that.”

Maeve shrugged, her hand firmly clasping her brother’s hand.

Etele led them back toward the gymnasium and through the doors. Many more people crowded the room now, all flowing toward the various doors. Etele cut behind one class, making sure that the two children stayed close to her, and pushed open a door.

And then came the explosion. The sound crashed over them and the floor rumbled underfoot, but it was clear it had come from another part of the building. Children screamed and cried, and teachers rushed to get their students out of the building as quickly as possible.

Etele’s heart thundered in her chest as she shoved open the door and guided the two children outside. “Run!” she yelled, pointing toward the gently swaying mushroom trees beside the river. “Go! Go!”

The sky above was no longer a calming blue. Instead, metal ships—sky fighters—screamed overhead, leaving trails of smoke behind them. Their glittering metal shells glinted in the sunlight, a harsh and cold contrast to the usually serene, natural landscape Etele was accustomed to.

“Etele!” Maeve screamed, her pigtails flying out behind her as she ran away from the school building, now ablaze.

Etele scooped up Maeve in one arm and Lazlo with the other, who now had tears streaming down his face, and ran toward the woods ahead of them. Her breath came in hard gasps and sweat dripped down her forehead, as her legs strained under the extra weight of the two children.

“Etele!” Natali screamed from where she stood at the edge of the mushroom forest. She waved her arms, several children all rushing past her to get under the cover of the mushroom caps. The town emergency shelter was hidden in those woods—that must be where they were headed. “This way! Follow me!”

Another bomb dropped, and a house not too far from the school erupted into flames.

Natali’s older brother stood beside her, a look of intensity on his face as he watched the sky fighters careening through the sky above.

And then, one landed in the empty space between Etele and the woods, taking advantage of the wide-open green field the children used to play games. Etele skidded to a halt, eyes wide, watching as a hatch opened, and soldiers decked out in gear from head to toe marched out, hands on their weapons.

Etele could see Natali on the other side of the ship, screaming at the top of her lungs. Her brother had broken into a run, and as Etele watched, the soldiers faced him, ignoring the children and teachers making a break for the forest.

Etele took the opportunity and ran around them, the two children clinging to her as tightly as they could. She could see Mrs. Volk already at the edge of the trees with the rest of the class. When Etele arrived at the edge of the trees, Natali took Lazlo from her, and with one last look over her shoulder at her brother, now throwing punches at the soldiers, led Etele into the trees.

The Impact of Narrative In Day-To-Day Life... Part 2! (and some free books)

This is Part 2 of "What Ariele's Been Thinking About Lately" or, in this case, "The Philosophy of Story" so if you missed part one, no problem! I posted it to my blog so just click here. 

If you're just here for the free books, I got you! 

Click here to download a whole slew of fairy tale retellings! I personally love fairy tale retellings, so I've already grabbed a few. Let me know if you like any in particular! 

If you're more in the mood for some urban fantasy & scifi books, this is the list for you! This is an awesome selection of free books, and some of my friends' books are on here too so definitely click through to check it out. 

Okay, so…

Last time I talked about the philosophy of story and how it filters down into my life in particular. But of course, it's one of those really big topics that doesn't just go away once I've thought about it for a little while.

The idea that everything is a story has a really deep impact, if you find yourself able to really believe the idea. And that impact can be dangerous, but it can also be freeing.

For example, if everything is a story, then that means the idea "killing people is wrong" is simply a story society and culture tells. It's a story I agree with, to be clear, but if someone else were to begin believing that it was a story--what happens if they don't agree with it? Do they start killing people? Do they begin justifying all kinds of terrible things?

But if you really think about it, even something that seems like it should be a given has gray areas. We have entire shows, movies, book series, and video games built around characters who have killed people wherein the story presents it as okay.

For example, in Bones, Booth was a sniper and now an FBI agent. We accept that the killing he does is okay. In NCIS, Gibbs killed a guy out of revenge, and it's presented as "a terrible thing Gibbs did for a good reason." The TV show Dexter is all about a guy who kills people who slip through the system--a vigilante murderer.

And think about books and movies like Lord of the Rings: the characters slaughter their way through the stories without even blinking. Legolas and Gimli have a competition for how many orcs they can kill! I personally have killed a lot of perfectly innocent fictional characters in video games. Full-fledged brotherhood assassin over here lol.

The catch is, in all of these stories, the people who are killed are portrayed as being "bad" people who cause far more harm than can ever be undone. Orcs are evil monsters created to wreak havoc on Middle Earth. In Dexter, Bones, NCIS, the main characters only kill people who have done terrible things. In fantasy books and movies, the characters have to kill because people are getting in the way of "the greater good."

So then, sometimes... killing is okay?

And that's just in fiction. In real life, we support our military and emergency personnel, even when they are put in positions where they have to kill people. We bomb other countries. We still have the death penalty. We refuse treatment plans for people with illnesses if their insurance company "doesn't think it's necessary." We all talk about how we would totally have killed Hitler if we had the opportunity.

But the point here is that the story "Killing people is wrong," is no longer an irrefutable truth. It's a story we tell to hopefully reduce the arbitrary killing that goes on. But the story is a lot more complicated than that. It's more like, "Killing people is wrong, except for..."

If we can look at a story like "killing is wrong" and find reasons why that story isn't entirely true, we can do the same for all kinds of things. We can question everything.

It's a can of worms, friend.

Does it matter if I mow my lawn every week?

Does my house have to be clean when people come over?

Does it make me a bad person if I... [insert thing someone told you not to do]?

On one hand, the process of questioning everything you've ever been told can be a bit destabilizing. It can be confusing. But it can also be freeing.

Do you know how many arbitrary rules there are? Take writing, for example. It's one occupation, one skillset, out of bajillions of skillsets. It's just one thing. And yet the rules...

• Don't use adverbs.

• Don't end a sentence with a proposition.

• Don't use sentence fragments.

• Don't use passive voice.

• Don't use parenthesis.

• Don't spell things wrong.

• Don't use 5-cent words unless absolutely necessary.

Okay, I'll stop boring you with a list of writing rules I think are BS, lol. Just google "list of writing rules" and you'll find blog after blog telling you what you should and shouldn't do.

My point is--using adverbs is fine! Prepositions are an excellent thing to end sentences with! Sentences fragments? Fantastic. Passive voice is so useful. I love parenthesis (doesn't everyone?). Spelling is a made-up thing! And I will never say no to a gargantuan, ponderous, voluminous sesquipedalia.

What I'm not saying is that we should give up on every story we've ever heard, every rule we've ever believed, and every social norm that's ever been invented. Because in many cases, these social stories were created for a reason.

There's a reason why we say "Killing people is wrong."

What I am saying is that we don't have to be bound by these stories. We can (and arguably should) question everything. We can work to understand the "why" behind the stories we use to construct our lives. And we can figure out which stories we want to keep, which stories work for us, which stories make our lives better--and which stories don't.