The Benefits of Restriction

For various reasons, I’ve been spending a lot of time just recently thinking about restriction - both in life and in writing. When we sit down and contemplate the blank page, the possibilities ahead of us are endless. We can write a story about a man called Fred. We can write a story about a time-travelling squirrel. Our story can be set in the real world or it can be set in a fantastical universe where rivers flow backwards and chocolates grow on trees. The time period could be 1805. Or the time period could be 3067. In our stories, we can do parachute jumps and talk with animals and solve quadratic equations. This limitless number of possibilities is very exciting. But what I’ve been thinking about over the past month or so is whether it also creates a problem. There is too much choice.

Earlier this year, I wrote about the importance of finding focus in our stories, and I think the key to finding that focus is to impose restrictions on ourselves. Even if we set out to write an epic novel, we have to limit the story in some way. What is the story ultimately about? What do our characters know? If there are time-travelling squirrels, what are the rules that govern how time-travel works? What is the form of the story? What is the word count of the story? What tone of voice are we using? All of these questions impose a restriction on what we can put on the page. We tend to think of restriction as a bad thing, but when it comes to writing stories, I think restriction is essential.

Although it sounds contradictory, restriction is in many ways extremely liberating. This is something Grant Faulkner touches on in “The Art of Brevity” – “the freedom of constraints.” Referencing a Sylvia Plath quote about poetry being a “tyrannical discipline”, he suggests that “the tyranny of the discipline […] brings out the creativity.” He then delves into the psychological view, how “recent studies show that when people hold the free reins of abundance, they often follow the path of least resistance and rely on commonplace ways of thinking” whereas “constraints force you to think differently.” He is talking about flash fiction, but I would argue that the same idea applies to short stories and novels as well. If we don’t limit ourselves in any way then there is a danger that (a) we will never make a start because the choices in front of us are too great, (b) our stories will lack focus, and (c) we’ll end up taking the easy route and losing that possibility for uniqueness and sparkle.

So, this month I’m leaning into that idea of restriction. What can we gain from restricting ourselves? What can we learn? What can we discover? Below, I’ve suggested a few exercises you might like to try, either things to help you focus on a particular technique or things to spark original angles towards a story.

Exercises in restriction

Limit yourself to what you already know

Research is an essential part of how we craft a story. Our characters are not us. We therefore need to learn new things in order to bring them and their worlds effectively to the page. But I wonder whether some of us have become too reliant on Google and Wikipedia? So, this exercise is about embracing “write what you know.” Step away from the internet. Preferably, step away from your computer and write by hand. Don’t look up synonyms or check the date of the French revolution. Simply write a story.

(WHAT CAN WE GAIN / LEARN / DISCOVER FROM THIS RESTRICTION? Getting into the flow of writing without interruption. Problem-solving within a story)

A windowless room

I referenced above how restriction can help us with achieving cohesion and focus, and this exercise is designed to get you thinking about that. You’re allowed one character and they need to spend the entirety of your story in a windowless room. You’re allowed to introduce one “luxury item” (an object, animal or plant) and one sensory detail (a sound, a feeling, a taste or a smell). Can you create a story that is either emotionally powerful or page-turningly exciting?

(WHAT CAN WE GAIN / LEARN / DISCOVER FROM THIS RESTRICTION? A sense of focus and cohesion. Embracing the power of the simple. Exploring the possibilities of internal thought)

Use a pre-existing start and end point

I’m not sure if it’s still running, but there used to be a competition called the Literary Taxidermy competition which challenged writers to write a new story using the opening and closing lines of a famous novel. This gives you a start point and an end point, and the challenge is to come up with a new journey in between those two points.

(WHAT CAN WE GAIN / LEARN / DISCOVER FROM THIS RESTRICTION? Understanding the different journeys you might create between point A and point B)

Bury a second story within the first

We often talk about creating layers in our stories, hidden depths in terms of character detail or human truth. Often this is something that emerges as we make our way from one draft to the next. But what if we make that our starting point? What if we impose a restriction on ourselves that the first word of each sentence will create that hidden layer. For example:

Gregory wonders why his son Brian is ignoring him.

Is it because he didn’t buy him the X-box game he wanted for Christmas?

A vague memory floats into his mind of screeching brakes on his way to the store, then a siren, a flashing light, staring upwards at the clouds.

Ghost white clouds which call to him in his mother’s voice.

(WHAT CAN WE GAIN / LEARN / DISCOVER FROM THIS RESTRICTION? Pondering story on multiple levels. Thinking about sentence flow)

Writing blind

On my Glorious Words course, I challenge writers to write a story where the main character can’t see. In describing the world, many of us lean into the visual, so in removing that, we are forced to think of other ways of bringing the sensory to life. What scenario might you use? How does this alter how you go about telling a story?

(WHAT CAN WE GAIN / LEARN / DISCOVER FROM THIS RESTRICTION? Contemplating the world in a new light. Exploring sensory detail)

Write a story without the letter X

Pick a letter from the alphabet. It can be any letter you like although as a general rule of thumb, the lower the letter score in a standard game of Scrabble, the harder this challenge will be (hint: “E” is REALLY hard; “A” and “T” are also very challenging). Now, write a 200-word story without using that letter.

(WHAT CAN WE GAIN / LEARN / DISCOVER FROM THIS RESTRICTION? Problem-solving at the level of words)

Predetermine your sentence lengths

There are several different ways you might approach this one. You can use a random number generator or you can pick an already existing sequence of numbers (like the Fibonacci Sequence). You then use your number series to determine how many words you have in each sentence of your story.

(WHAT CAN WE GAIN / LEARN / DISCOVER FROM THIS RESTRICTION? Getting into the groove of using different sentence rhythms and structures)

Final thoughts

The possibilities are endless. I started this article by suggesting that every choice we make restricts our potential story in some way. There are an infinite number of possible restrictions, and every restriction or combination of restrictions (because in all stories, we aren’t just restricting ourselves in one dimension, but in several dimensions all at once) will lead to a unique new scenario or a unique new angle onto a scenario that has been considered many times before. As I mentioned above, restriction is cohesion; restriction is freedom; restriction is originality. Restriction is an entry point for creating stories which are both complex and perfectly distilled, ones which challenge us as writers and challenge our readers as well. Restriction is a wonderful tool when it comes to learning about writing, often allowing us to practise a craft technique in a structured way. Hopefully, there are one or two exercises above that might take you somewhere interesting. But if none of them grab your fancy, why not think up a restriction exercise of your own? What can you learn from that exercise? What sort of stories might emerge?

---

And finally…

If you enjoy reading this newsletter, could you do me a favour and share it with all your writing friends using the “share” button below? Word of mouth is so important to a freelancer like myself.

And if you’re able to spare a couple of pennies, I’m very grateful to those of you who choose to buy me a virtual coffee each month. It allows me to keep this newsletter free and accessible to all.