I had to write this true crime novel once. I just couldn’t get going on it. The deadline was getting closer and closer. My agent was calling me every day. Finally the deadline was past and I kept promising I was just a week away. “You better be,” said my agent.
I realized it just wasn’t going to happen, and I set out to drink myself stupid. Way stupid, as it turned out. In fact, so stupid I hadda invent another wordta describe it. Wish I could remember that word, now. Anyhow.
Somehow I found myself at this strip club. Badda Boom Badda Bing. Something like that. There were these guys hanging around, and I realized I could do myself a solid. I hadda been four sheets to the wind, but it seemed like a good idea at the time.
So I actually hired these guys to collect on me. I told them to break the knuckles of this writer if he didn’t deliver the goods in a week. Next morning, bright and early, they show up at my doorstep. They tell me that if the story ain’t in by this time next week, they’re gonna break one knuckle per day until it is in.
Can you believe it? I paid to have my own knuckle broke! But it worked. After that first knuckle, I had the story finished the next day. I even broke even on my advance.
I don’t recommend it, but it could work.