I'm always puzzled when writers say they don't believe in Writer's Block. Dismissing the idea with a patronizing smile and a little shake of the head, as though truly feeling sorry for those of us who fall victim to such self-indulgence.

In fact, my favourite non-believer once said with much disdain as he thumped his chest at the interviewer, "I'm a writer. I write. That's my job. Like a plumber has a job. And does a plumber ever get plumber's block?"

Well that's all very nice, and I do see his point. In plumbing you have certain parts or elements that are necessary to do the work. You have couplings and joints and traps and cement and dope, and with enough of these things you can plumb a four levels sidesplit, a towering skyscraper, a stadium. `A’ goes into `B’ which slips over `C,’ and there's no end to the plumbing marvels you can create.

In writing, we have tools as well. Beyond the physical keyboard, pen and paper, we have the elements of fiction that are as constant as the joints and couplings of the plumber. Inciting incidents, turning points, climax, resolution. How we use these elements, how we fit A into B, determines what we produce -- romance, horror, sci-fi, picture books, mystery, literary fiction, the possibilities are endless. But that is where the comparison between plumbing and writing ends.

The plumber never sits on the floor with his coupling and cement, fully prepared to put A into B, when suddenly the coupling reveals that she can't go under the kitchen sink. Ever since she popped off the assembly line, she's dreamed of being on the top floor, part of the master bedroom plan, and she won't settle for less. Just when the plumber thinks he has her under control, that's when the `P' trap confesses that he has been in love with the basement taps for some time now, is in fact suicidal at the thought of being separated from her for the rest of time.

The plumber also never has to wonder what would happen if he didn't put A into B. If he put it into C instead. The answer is simple. Plumbing chaos. Anarchy under the sink. Water everywhere. He has no choice. A always goes into B, and the trap meets the exit pipe, everything goes down the drain, off to the sewers and all is well. A happy ending.

But in fiction, we're not dealing with plastic or copper. When you write, you're dealing with people. People with quirks and foibles and families and enough emotional baggage to give you something new to wear every day for a year. And A doesn't always go into B. In fact, it's those writers who never ask A to go into C or perhaps D, who are allowing themselves to be tradesmen, and not craftsmen.

Writing is not a trade, it's a craft, an art, and therein lies the difference. Books touch people in a way that plumbing never does. I've never been asked to identify the bathroom that changed my life, or the sink that has influenced me most.

I've never found myself going back to a particular drain pipe again and again, just touching it, listening to it gurgle because the sound of that gurgle had left an indelible mark on my soul, and will always be there in the back of my mind.

But I'll bet everyone has a favourite book or two. Books that did indeed change your life, that will remain forever the one against which you measure everything else that you read. Perhaps you've even re-read it a few times, taking joy in the feel of the pages and the sight of the words. Like a child who knows all the words but wants to hear the story again, just because.

As much as marketing would like us to believe that books are just product, just cans of soup and p-traps, they will always be so much more. Books, good books, challenge us, ask questions and evoke emotion and demand more than any piece of plumbing I've ever seen. And that's why writer's block and creative blocks are very real. Because it's not a simple process. It's complex and demanding, and if you're doing it right, at some point in that book you'll sweat blood, you'll throw things, and you might even lay your head down and cry real tears because it's hard. And if it's not, then I always ask myself why. Have I taken the easy way? Simply put A into B, without allowing the characters to grow, to change, to develop in ways that I never dreamed possible. Because if I am, then I'm cheating myself and the reader. No one wants to be surprised by their plumbing, but a reader always wants to be surprised by a book.

Regardless of the kind of book you're writing, your characters should be real to you. They should live and breath and haunt your sleep, regardless of whether they're human beings, aliens or heads in a bottle. And when they become that real to you, then the creative process really starts. You're open to ideas and configurations that you never dreamed would happen. But that's when you're also most vulnerable to the Anti-Muse, the one who is skinny and shrill, (kind of the Joan Rivers of creativity) who barges into your office, plunks herself on your desk and leans close whispering, “You know you can’t do this.” Your idea is flawed, your characters flat, and besides she's heard it all before. Forget it honey. Let's do lunch. Or at the very least, cookies. And do you know how messy your linen closet is? You should be ashamed of yourself.

The Anti-Muse knows your weaknesses because she knows you, she is you. And if you let her, she'll keep your fingers away from the keyboard and she'll make that wonderful idea whither right there in front of you. The one that kept you up nights and was so real you could see it, will suddenly cloud and dry up, leaving you with nothing but neat closets, an empty cookie jar and not a finished page in sight.

So that said, how do you defeat the Anti-Muse? How do you push her aside so the real muse can float in through that door. First of all, you have to recognize what kind of bitch you're dealing with. I've developed a theory that there are three easily recognizable blocks. (There are probably more, but three is enough for me to battle on a daily basis.) Perfectionist Block, the one that tells you everything you've written is crap. Suspended Animation Block that happens after you've finally sent something out, and your fingers and mind are frozen while you wait to hear from the publisher or agent. Then of course, there's Hopelessness Block, the kind that comes after your manuscript has been returned yet again, this time with a lovely hand written note that says, `not what we're looking for but thanks for playing.’

Hopelessness Block is perhaps the hardest because the Anti-Muse is often cheered on by well-meaning loved ones who tell you it's not worth it. I've seen this block take hold of award winning published authors with backlists to choke a horse, and turn them into clerks at the local drug store and typists for real estate agents, convinced that it's hopeless. They'll never sell again because the market is too tight, they're not writing what anyone wants to read, the list goes on and on. And it's invariably the most talented writers who suffer this. I don't know why that is, but while everyone knows the market is tight, there will always be room for a good book, and you can't give up because an idea or two fell flat.

So now you've identified the kind of block you have, now you look around for a remedy. Let me tell you, I've tried them all. There was the Year of Yellow Paper, when I bought into the theory that yellow was the key to unlocking the imagination. And if yellow paper could make me more creative, then it only stood to reason that yellow file cards and a yellow pen would be even better. And how about a few sunflowers, or maybe a pot of mums. Add if I added a yellow sweatshirt, yellow socks, yellow walls then I would be a creative force to be reckoned with. Nothing could stand in my way for I had the power of yellow. Then I discovered I’m a winter and yellow isn’t really my colour after all.

After that, came the Year of Aroma therapy. Lavender for relaxation, geranium for energy. I had so many scented candles in my office they used to open the doors downstairs just for a breath of fresh air. Then I learned that what I was really inhaling was petroleum byproduct, and I got rid of my candles. Then there were the Bach flowers, the Shinto bells, the relaxation exercises, Mozart for the Mind, the breathing techniques -- there's nothing I haven't tried to defeat the Anti-Muse. But in the end, there are only a few things that really do work.

For Suspended Animation, nothing works like research. If you're a writer, there are ideas floating around in your head most of the time. The Anti-Muse knows that too, and she spends a lot of time trying to convince you that, while the idea you're working on right now isn't worth the cost of the paper you've printed it out on, the other idea is absolutely fabulous.

This is the only time to listen to her, when your baby is still out there, sitting on an editor or agent’s desk, waiting to wow them. Now is when you let that other idea take hold, let it steep -- and you take a trip to the library, surf the net, and never underestimate the power of an obscure magazine. Woodworkers Life, Miniature Mania, even Road and Track can open up a whole new world of characters to you. And don't just stick to the main articles. Read the bios, the letters to the editor and the little opinion column at the very end. Read between the lines, look at the pictures, the faces, because that’s where the interesting stories lie.

When that new idea starts to become a reality, it's surprising how that manuscript out there in limbo can take a back seat, if only long enough to let you get started on another project. You can wait months to hear from an agent or editor. Don't spend that time cleaning those closets or going to lunch with the Anti-Muse. Writing is a skill and if you spend too long away from a keyboard, you'll get rusty.

As for Hopelessness, it often helps to try something completely different. If you always write romance, try a sci-fi. If you always write in third person, try first. Let yourself experience the joy of discovery again. Feel the rush of excitement you first felt when you put fingers to keyboard. And don't pull back. Don't edit yourself, because there's a good possibility that what you sent in was held back, was self-edited, and while technically brilliant, it lacked that spark that editors are always searching for.

If you’re a new writer, don't ever hold back, don't ever anticipate what an editor wants, because just like readers, they love to be surprised. I'm not advising you to slip a group sex scene into your category romance, or a drug dealer into your children's book, but I am telling you to stretch the limits of what you do, to try something new and not be afraid. Your writing will be fresh and sparkling because you're excited, and that excitement goes a long way to keeping the Anti-Muse outside where she belongs.

While I've known Hopelessness myself, by far, the worst block for me is Perfectionist. The one that sits right there beside me and proclaims loudly that every book I wrote was a fluke, sheer luck, and I probably can't do it again. And when I finally do start writing, that same voice says, well yes, you've got words on the page, but they're not very good are they. Be honest, dear. What you've produced is really crap, and it's lying there for all the world to see.

It's Perfectionist block that makes me rewrite the same paragraph over and over for weeks on end, convinced that it's not good enough. But I've discovered that Perfectionist block goes hand in hand with fear. Fear of going forward because I don't really know the story. So I've learned to outline, to identify the major points that I'm driving toward. Then I do in depth character sketches so that I know those people better than I know myself. I won't admit my own weaknesses, but I know every one of theirs. And I know exactly how to make life hard for them, to give them impossible choices and then force them to choose, because that's what makes a page turner. People making choices. And if I know my characters it's harder for the Anti-Muse to come in and tell me I'm wrong, that I don't know what I'm talking about.

Then I sit down and start typing, letting the characters walk around and talk to each other. This will often send me out for more research or back to the character sketch, which is fine, because each tidbit of information I pick up, each line I add to the character sketch makes me more confident about where the story is going and what the characters are doing. And confidence goes a long way toward defeating Perfectionist Block. You can play tricks on the Anti-Muse too. Try not to open what you wrote yesterday until after you’ve written something new today. That way you won't be tempted to start re-writing before you’ve pushed the story forward.

But all of this still doesn't stop me from thinking it's not good enough. What does that is the support I get from other writers. Men and women whose opinions I respect, and this, I believe, is key to overcoming Perfectionist Block.

Get yourself into a critique group that knows something about writing. This will give you a deadline, something to work toward. Be embarrassed when you arrive with nothing, but make yourself go to the meeting. Being among like-minded people is one of the most important things you can do for yourself. Husbands and wives and significant others don't understand the hold that a book has over us, or how we can be so obsessed with people who don’t exist. Other writers always understand.

But a critique group isn't just a place where you pat each other on the back. It's a place where people you trust will tell you when you've found gold, and when you really have produced crap, because we all do from time to time. But more eyes and more minds can often help you to see beyond the limits of your own imagination. Advertisers, television and movie writers have known this for a long time -- that two minds are often better than one. Fiction writers have too long closeted themselves away with the Anti-Muse, believing her every word when she told them that the energy would dissipate if they shared their story. Or even worse, someone would steal their ideas. Trust me, ideas are a dime a dozen. It’s writing skill that’s rare. So don’t be afraid to put your ideas on the table with a group you trust. Go to a few meetings, see what they’re about, how they speak to each other, what they say about the work, and find out if they’re what you need. And don’t just stick to romance groups. People outside the genre bring can often bring different insights to your work and help you to see your story in a whole new light.

The sad truth is, that we’re not living in Ernest Hemingway’s time. Editors don't have time to completely rewrite your manuscript, or develop that nugget of talent they saw in your writing. These days, you have to mine your own nugget, then you have to shape it and polish it before you send it out. And while an editor will inevitably mess with the gold they bought from you, you can bet that it was 90% what they wanted in the first place, or they wouldn't have wasted their time with you.