Using the Process of Storytelling to Overcome Writer’s Block

I worked as a freelance writer in Philadelphia for many years. I had no trouble writing about other people. But, when it came to writing about myself I suffered debilitating writer’s block. My brain would shut me down after one sentence. “So what, who cares?” I heard over and over.

(Writing Mistakes Writers Make: Waiting for Inspiration to Strike.)

Then, in January 2016, I moved to Chicago where my husband, Andy, was a visiting professor at the University of Chicago. The first time my new dog walker came in I asked, “What do you do when you aren’t walking dogs?”

“I’m a storyteller and I host a storytelling open mic. You should come and tell a story.”

I had never heard of storytelling before.

I mulled a story idea about how I had coped with my severe recurring depression when the violence at my community college teaching job made it necessary for me to quit, by going to Australia, alone, to follow Bruce Springsteen’s tour. I knew there was a story there somewhere.

I went to the storytelling open mic just to see what it was like.

“Do you want to sign up?” a woman said.

“No way,” I said.

The first three storytellers were men. The first one talked about how difficult it was for him when his wife was in labor, because she was too distracted to talk to him. The second recounted his trip to Woodstock in 1969 where he cheated on his fiancé with four women. The third man spoke about abusing his first and second wives. But, he was proud to tell us that now, with his third wife, his “transformation [was] nothing less than miraculous.”

A conversation, 40 years earlier with my gynecologist, popped into my head. I signed up.

“I came here to learn how to tell a story about Bruce Springsteen,” I said to the crowded room.

Everyone cheered and Broo-ed,

“But instead I am going to tell a story about sex.”

They all cheered even louder. When I finished telling my story everyone was clapping and cheering.

It was gratifying to get immediate and positive feedback. It was so different than when I sat at my desk and tried to write. The encouragement from these strangers was just what I needed to convince myself I was ready to go to an open mic and tell my Bruce Springsteen story.

The following week, in another back room in another bar, people clapped and cheered for my Bruce Springsteen story.

This gave me confidence to try to write other storytelling stories. It was slow. Bit by bit, I began going to open mics and getting encouraging feedback.

An acquaintance said I had to go to The Moth. I had never heard of The Moth. Then he said, “And you have to tell a story there.”

“Absolutely not,” I said.

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He was relentless.

The first time I got up on The Moth stage, the lights were so bright. I couldn’t see the audience. I was terrified. But, I got through it. I soon won two StorySLAMs in Chicago. For months when I returned as an audience member to a Moth StorySLAM people asked me questions about my stories. They wanted to know more. It was so encouraging to know that people were interested in what I had to say.

After Chicago, I moved to New York City. My goal was to win a StorySLAM there. April 1 I won on my first try with a story about a horrible dog I was duped into adopting. Again, people had so many questions because they wanted to know more.

I decided to try to hone my storytelling skills, and contacted a storytelling coach. The first thing she said to me was, “If I could wave a magic wand and grant you one wish what would it be?”

She completely shocked me with that question. Spontaneously I said, “To write a book.”

“Then that’s what you have to do,” she replied.

Initially, I fought myself to keep from doing it. Over three months of not doing it, I became increasingly angry at myself.

I work out every day. It’s how I cope with my depression. Even though I never feel like doing it, I never question it. I just do it. When I’m done l always feel better.

I decided to try this approach to writing.

The first day after working out I sat down at my desk and looked at the clock. It was eleven-thirty. I could not leave my desk until one-thirty. I would not question or ponder or judge. I would put my fingers on the keyboard and tap one key after another. I wanted to write about going to Australia to see Bruce Springsteen. I looked at the blank computer screen, terrified. 

I decided I needed a muse to block the negative voices in my head. I pictured my husband and began typing my story to him. When I looked at the clock it was one-thirty. I’d done it. I had more than done it. 

So it went day after day after day. Anything that came into my head I tapped out. I didn’t dare censor anything that seemed even remotely relevant. I was afraid that if I contemplated not writing one scenario or anecdote, I would soon be going down the dark road to total writer’s block. I wrote and wrote. My first draft was 1,000 pages. The 10th and final draft was 350.

That’s how my memoir, Mattie, Milo, and Me (based on the StorySLAM I won in New York) and my memoir about going to Australia that is being published in Fall 2025 (based on a StorySLAM I won in Chicago) came to be.

Check out Anne Abel’s Mattie, Milo, and Me here:

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