You don’t have to look far to find a writer talking about their writing process. For the most part, I don’t know that I have much use for it. Not to be contrarian, but I wanted to write a little bit about my own writing process… if you can call it a process. This is mostly for me.
There are, of course, numerous volumes on the subject. Most seem to be little more than cash grabs or exercises in vanity. A few do stand out as useful though and they stand out for a key reason. They admit, upfront, to not having the answers, to not providing a solution, and they remain humble in their craft. On Writing by Stephen King comes to mind. The point of this all is that if you are looking for a process, you can look outside all you want to get ideas and to experiment, but at the end of the day, you are going to have to look inward to make any progress. I know it’s scary. Outside always feels brighter. Outside there are paths and trails well defined and trodden, but they are not yours, and walking down one will never feel quite right. Before I talk about my process, I have to encourage any and all readers to walk their own path. That path may be similar to others and may have even started as someone else’s path, but it will have to become your own before your writing will become your own.
In many ways, a writer’s process is a window into how a writer’s mind works. There are some writers that outline mercilessly and follow a process that is almost formulaic, even if the writing itself isn’t formulaic. Brandon Sanderson comes to mind here. I may do an entire blog post on him, to be honest.
Stephen King often writes in a style that he refers to as uncovering fossils. He typically has the start of a story in mind, complete with elaborate backstories—some of which may never see the page—but then he just writes, letting the characters tell him where the story should go. To him, it’s almost as if the story is already written. He is just finding it.
My writing process is better characterized as a hot mess. Maybe that’s not entirely true. I try to stay highly organized, and I write everything. I never let anything stay in my head on its own for too long. These two concepts butt heads at times. It’s hard to stay organized when you have scraps of sentences, ideas, back story, and the lords of writing knows what else all in the service of one story. Scrivener has been invaluable with keeping a modicum of organization to that process, but it’s still hard.
I liken my process to a big energetic dog eating a dinner spread. I start by chomping at the big meaty chunks, barely paying attention to the flavor, stuck in the thrill of eating before moving on to the smaller hunks of meat, maybe a veggie or a potato. By the end, I am licking the bowl trying to remember those big hunks that I swallowed mere seconds ago.
Most of my stories start with a concept. Something I want to explore and a character or a few characters that I want to explore the concept through. That inevitably leads to a few big scenes that I want to get down. Maybe a few more come to mind that I get written too along with some supporting backstory that I jot down for future reference. At this point, with the big chunks done, I have something that is barely coherent, at least if you attempt to take it as a whole. Then it’s time to move on to the medium chunks. Turning those big scenes into chapters, maybe even building out a few chapters before and after.
The next part is the hardest. I have to get my tongue into all the nooks and crannies. This is where I am building all the connective tissue. Not to be too graphic with my metaphor, but at this point, I usually have to vomit up some of those big chunks, reassess, rip apart, and sometimes completely rewrite. Some writers would say that this step should wait until after you have a first draft. Maybe they are right but I find that it’s hard for me to let it go. I used to find this tedious and tiresome, but more and more I see it as a puzzle to be solved. I love puzzles.
Once I have a first draft I prescribe to the Stephen King school of thought, and I have since long before I knew about his processes. I put the story away, and try my hardest not to think about it. For short stories, I try to leave it be until I have nearly forgotten what it is even about. For a novel, this is pretty much impossible. My memory might be utter shit at times, but I am not easily going to forget something that occupied so much of my mind for so long. Even so, I want some distance and maybe a few short projects before I attempt to dive back into that world.
The first review is the most challenging for me, and I imagine for most. I keep notes on everything as I review. Any detail that I want to be sure is referenced properly later and I likely have a host of notes already from when I was licking at the scraps trying to piece the puzzle together. They could be simple things like give this moment more weight or be sure to remember he had a sword during this scene. Some of these notes are for me to reference later in the read-through, others I know I am making for my next draft cycle, though I try to lean on the next draft cycle as little as possible.
When editing, I am treating my story like a patient and I am the doctor. I might have some idea what is wrong, but this process is going to work better for me and my patient if I leave my assumptions at the door and just treat the damn patient.
Writing, at least for me, is starting with nothing, and then pulling something out of the ether. This something is going to be chaotic, it will not make sense, and at times it might even seem insignificant. It’s my job—if you can call it that—to organize this chaos to make something meaningful. It is also the writer’s job to realize when the project should be aborted, sometimes temporarily until more of the ether chooses to speak life into the project, or perhaps forever.
In business and life we are often asked if the ends justify the means. Is the time that goes into it more valuable than what was created? In writing, sometimes you know when to cut your losses, but the truth is, if the means are fulfilling, then the ends are just a byproduct. It’s been a long, perhaps even unnecessarily long, road to get here, but I can finally admit that the means are fulfilling. Though I have high hopes for the ends, they are just a byproduct.
Quote of the Moment:
“Unknowing ignorance is preferable to informed stupidity.”
― Brandon Sanderson, Warbreaker
Current Reads:
Shakespeare’s Planet by Clifford D. Simak
Warbreaker by Brandon Sanderson