Category Archives: Creative Process/Craft

My Big Writerly Lesson for 2017

10 Wednesday Jan 2018

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I am happiest as a writer when I’m neck deep in the throes of creating a book-length manuscript. I already knew this. I found it out while I was writing my first novel. Here’s the revelation for 2017:

I am a mess when I’m between projects.

I am out of sorts. I am a wondering vagrant. I am like a bear roaming from campsite to campsite in search of some morsel. I think I have a concept for the next novel and when I start trying to form the idea I find that it’s flat, empty. No delight. It’s like sand through my fingers. So I pack it in and move on to the next idea – the next possibility that might, just might, hold the excitement that I so desperately want to recreate.
It has gotten ridiculous. Not only am I jumping from idea to idea – metawriting for months on one of them – but I’m circling back and revisiting ideas thinking, hoping, digging, imagining there will be fire there when before there was barely a spark.
This is new territory for me. This is my first stint between long-form projects. I have no idea what to do, how to act. I don’t even know how to think about my writing in the midst of this. I feel useless. I binge on chocolate and episodes of The West Wing.
I’ve lost my way.
I know what you’re thinking. That I must fight through it. It is part of creating. I must put my head down and keep trudging through the woods. That I’ll find the next project in time.
You’re right. And this will have been part of the experience.
I’m still miserable.

The Energy of Experience

15 Wednesday Nov 2017

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It is that moment when you are emotionally moved, when you are shocked, in awe. When damage is done or redemption is realized. The epiphany, the dumbfound, the fear and delight – sometimes small, sometimes large. Sometimes public, often private.
Take note, for these are the turns in which the writerly aesthetic lives.
To observe in such moments is human. To realize that the observation is material to be creatively mined, this is writerly. This is the skill – to learn to harness, capture, and form the energy of experience into craft.
Here are a pair of examples:
I have a fellow writer who recently wrote a poem about a drunk driver hitting a tree in his front yard in the middle of the night. For most people this is a story you tell over coffee with friends. Everyone is amazed and this spurs a series of stories of drunken tragedy. But for the writer, this is an experience that can only be properly dealt with by being set down in language.
Another fellow writer recently wrote a poem about sitting on an airport bus and receiving an email that he’d just been fired. This is more private, but is it less violent? Not as he tells it. Not as revealed in short, stark lines.
In both cases we are escorted past what happened and shown the residue of truth we might otherwise miss.
We fail our craft when we are like all other mortals, when we let our experiences simply come and go. Let us do the work of shining our spotlight on such moments.
Our readers will be the richer for it.

The Problem of Journaling – Solution #1: The Commonplace Book

18 Wednesday Oct 2017

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I keep a notebook next to my computer on my writing table. A simple, black, Moleskine, ruled 80 page journal – they come in sets of three.
Into this notebook goes an entry for every day. During my daily writing I sometimes start by making a note, but at some point during that day’s writing session I always turn to it and scribble.
I write my frustrations and hopes about my work, approaches I’m considering, things about life that are distracting me or making it hard to write. I often jot in the top margin what time I started writing or a reminder to revisit that page later to review important notes.
If I go to an author reading this is the notebook that goes with me so that I can capture ideas or comments that come during the evening.
The Commonplace Book is a working journal. It is a place, at my elbow or under my arm, where I can park whatever is standing between me and the work I’m trying to get done. I’m in my 17th notebook. Some days there is a page, other days a line, but it has become essential to my creative process.
Sidenote: The Wikipedia entry on Commonplace Book is surprisingly robust. The history of this tool is richer than you think.

Pseudocode

23 Wednesday Aug 2017

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Pseudocode is a term that first showed up around 1960. One source defined it as “A notation resembling a simplified programming language, used in program design.” I have decided that this term is useful for our purposes, so I am stealing it for those of us writing fiction.
Here’s the new definition.

Pseudocode (noun)
Writing that resembles or summarizes story, used in first drafts and outlines.

No one produces fully functioning software from the first line on a blank screen. And no one produces fully functioning fiction from the first sentence. There is writing that must come first. Writing that no reader should see. Writing that is in service of the writer as the story is created.

Here’s an example of the use of pseudocode from my current project:

So I said to the messenger. Tell our king this: Who am I to be your kinsman? Who is my father’s clan that I should be the son of the king by marriage?
[Saul hears this and sees David as weak and gives Merab to another (ESV). Skip the next paragraph.]
[OR]
[Per Deane, there is an attack by the Philistines on the day of the wedding. I would add that Saul sees this as a sign that David is inept in beating back the Philistines – as he has commanded him to do – thus gives Merab away and sets David up for failure.]
Wedding, rushed, too rushed. It is not at the palace. We stand in the hall by the edge of the theatre. Mid-wonder there is a crush at the door. It takes too long for my men to rush in and thus too long to gain a sword, but this close work of the battlefield, even here, is what I have done and do again. My dagger from under my cloak.

The pseudocode is mixed in with research and with bits of prose that are leaning toward fiction. There is no story yet, but it is being drafted. The craft point here is that you should cut yourself a break, take the pressure off, and simply write the pseudocode. Not only will you then have something on the blank page, but you’ll be moving toward understanding what the story or scene is trying to accomplish. In the next draft you can write to unpack what is happening in the pseudocode. But for now, you have a first draft. A start. And that is very good news.

The Rush of the First Draft

09 Wednesday Aug 2017

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The first draft is about gathering all the basic materials you’ll need for the finished product and organizing them before you. Laying them out, taking inventory, making sure nothing significant is missing. If you can do this, you have a very successful first draft.

The first draft is about paragraphs and ideas. It is about laying the beams, not hanging the curtains. There will be time to tend to the sentences, to the language. The first draft is written from several yards away. Don’t look too close. There’s no point in it. Few of these words will survive. Look only close enough to ensure the bones are in place.

The first draft is ugly and unfit for a reader’s consumption. Show it to no one. It is a waste of their time. Its only purpose is to get you to the second draft. It is a fumbling start. It is full of holes. It is held together by chicken wire. And it is the only path to the “next”, and to “done.”

The first draft is horrifying and exhilarating. The rush of the first draft. It is always amazing to see what comes out. What inhabits the first draft is raw energy, hope, promise. A first draft is optimism incarnate. And it is a wonder how a thing that did not exist an hour before now is.

The first draft seeks a tone, a thing inherent in the first words that emerges. Listen for it. As you come to hear and feel it, and then see the hue or color – focus in and move toward it. Sneak up on it. Don’t rush. Creep in from behind and throw a net over its form and drag it onto the page. In a few drafts it will seem that it has always existed, that you simply heard it, honed in on it, and subdued it for all to see.

Cut and Tape

19 Wednesday Jul 2017

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Here is a very practical tool that has served me well time and time again. Most recently a little over a week ago.

When to Use It –
There come moments in writing where the prose is well-honed, from a micro perspective, but is unordered and disorganized. This doesn’t happen often, but when it does it is always 7 or 8 drafts in. And it is a stopper. It becomes evident when reading it over a few times. You see that all the material is there and it’s written well, but the rhythm and tone feel rough. As a reader you are distracted and unable to settle in, but you can’t determine precisely why.
If you continue to try to edit and rekey you’ll only spin your wheels. You need a more dramatic move.
This tool will free you from the linear manipulation that is the edit & rekey cycle (which is THE primary way to quality prose) and give you an entirely new perspective on the draft at hand.

How to Do It –
Step 1: Make sure the prose is double-spaced (you’ll need the white space) and then print it out.
Step 2: Read it once more. Look for awkward breaks in the prose – those moments that jolt you out of the dream as a reader. Mark them. Look for sentences that follow each other but vary in color or tone and don’t seem well paired. Mark these too.
Step 3: Cut these sentences (or groups of sentences) out of the page with a pair of scissors.
Step 4: Repeat Step 2 and 3
Step 5: One you’re done cutting free your sentences discard the margins and other scraps. There may be sentences you decide to discard along with the scrap.This is good.
Step 6: Grab a clean sheet of paper.
Step 7: Reorder the sentences by laying them out. Keep the scissors handy as you may need to cut apart a few more sentences.
Step 8: Once you have reordered the entire piece, tape the sentences to the paper.
Step 9: Read the piece again and make the hand edits that are now needed in order for this new draft to hang together.
Step 10: Go back to your computer and rekey the newly taped section of prose from scratch.

There! You have a fresh draft, you understand how it’s fitting together, the prose is tighter, and you’ve added material during the rekey.
Now you’re over that hump. On to the next draft.

Cut and Tape

05 Wednesday Jul 2017

Posted by in Creative Process/Craft, Role of the Writer, Writing Discipline

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Here is a very practical tool that has served me well time and time again. Most recently a little over a week ago.

When to Use It –
There come moments in writing where the prose is well-honed, from a micro perspective, but is unordered and disorganized. This doesn’t happen often, but when it does it is always 7 or 8 drafts in. And it is a stopper. It becomes evident when reading it over a few times. You see that all the material is there and it’s written well, but the rhythm and tone feel rough. As a reader you are distracted and unable to settle in, but you can’t determine precisely why.
If you continue to try to edit and rekey you’ll only spin your wheels. You need a more dramatic move.
This tool will free you from the linear manipulation that is the edit & rekey cycle (which is THE primary way to quality prose) and give you an entirely new perspective on the draft at hand.

How to Do It –
Step 1: Make sure the prose is double-spaced (you’ll need the white space) and then print it out.
Step 2: Read it once more. Look for awkward breaks in the prose – those moments that jolt you out of the dream as a reader. Mark them. Look for sentences that follow each other but vary in color or tone and don’t seem well paired. Mark these too.
Step 3: Cut these sentences (or groups of sentences) out of the page with a pair of scissors.
Step 4: Repeat Step 2 and 3
Step 5: One you’re done cutting free your sentences discard the margins and other scraps. There may be sentences you decide to discard along with the scrap.This is good.
Step 6: Grab a clean sheet of paper.
Step 7: Reorder the sentences by laying them out. Keep the scissors handy as you may need to cut apart a few more sentences.
Step 8: Once you have reordered the entire piece, tape the sentences to the paper.
Step 9: Read the piece again and make the hand edits that are now needed in order for this new draft to hang together.
Step 10: Go back to your computer and rekey the newly taped section of prose from scratch.

There! You have a fresh draft, you understand how it’s fitting together, the prose is tighter, and you’ve added material during the rekey.
Now you’re over that hump. On to the next draft.

Why I Write Long Form Fiction

21 Wednesday Jun 2017

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It is what the boatwright feels when the hull has taken shape and shavings from the mast are beginning to litter the floor.
It is what the mountaineer feels when he is a mile above base camp and the trees are beginning to thin out.
It is what the marathon runner feels at mile 15 and her shoes feel like part of her feet, like wheels she is riding.
It is what I feel when I’m in my eleventh draft of the seventh chapter of a novel.

It is the sense that your skills are being pushed, and doing the work is layered with meaning that you couldn’t imagine yesterday.
It is the discovery that you’re honing your process more than creating a product.
It is the realization that this same process is being expanded to fit this new achievement, and that the product is now informing you and your process as it’s revealed before you.
It is that moment when you are keenly aware that you are learning about your craft and deploying that learning at the same time.
It is the fact that it cannot be done in an afternoon, a week, or a month – and the delight you take in this delay.

The finished manuscript, the boat built, the mountain climbed, and the finish line crossed do more for the person who has done the work than for anyone who might observe the outcome.

This is why I write long form fiction.

Read Aloud

07 Wednesday Jun 2017

Posted by in Creative Process/Craft, Qualities of Good Fiction, Role of the Writer

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Do you read your writing aloud to yourself? Is this part of your writing process?
Yes? Good. You can stop reading here. Well done. Carry on.
No? It should be.
Why? Two reasons:
It will improve your writing. You can hear problems in your writing that you can’t see. Language is processed differently by the ear than it is by the eye. We can hear what we can’t see. Likewise we can’t fully imagine the sounds of language when reading in silence. There is music in well-written prose. There is rhythm and tone. These are important aspects of high-functioning prose. But you can’t see them. And you can’t write-in these elements effectively if you don’t read and listen for them.
Reading your work aloud is a skill that you will need if you achieve any significant success as a writer. All writers who have published more than a little will be asked at least a few times to read their work aloud. You may read to a high school lit class, a book club of a half-dozen souls, or to several hundred devout fans in a university lecture hall. In any case, your ability to read your work in an entertaining and captivating way will increase your readership and exposure. Conversely, if you don’t develop this skill it will prove limiting. You’ll be frustrated. And if you’re successful as a writer you’ll experience the misery of developing this skill as your readers sit in the flesh before you and watch.
So make reading your work aloud a part of your creative process now. It will benefit your writing and you’ll be preparing for future success.
Besides, reading stories aloud to your kids or to your spouse after dinner, is wonderful. Try it.

When Our Delight Becomes a Task

24 Wednesday May 2017

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We live in a fast-paced, routinely and deeply dissatisfying culture.
This is not news. We live it. It is the water. We are the fish.
In this state, it is too easy for the daily actions we undertake in the practice of our creative craft to become another set of tasks on our to-do-list. If we allow it, we can sit down to read or to write and find ourselves rushing to get done, pressed to get the other “tasks” on our list finished before the day ends.
But this work – this work of taking in the creative work of others and produce the same – must be handled differently. This work is an oasis. It brings us joy. It feeds a part of us that resides at our core. It is where we value producing over consuming. It is where we marvel in the doing, not rest in the done. It is part of our image-bearing as creations of the Creator. And so, for these reasons, this work must not obey the pace and intent of the many other daily tasks we undertake.
Pause and recognize the difference between tasks and intentional actions. Move your creative work out of the task column and into the intentional, thoughtful action column.
And if possible, hire someone to mow the grass. Only you can write your next short story.