I’m gonna try something a little different here. Rather than focus on my Work (the books & stories & miscellany I’ve had or will have or am trying to publish), I wanted to spotlight and explore my work. That is to say, the actual process, the nuts-and-bolts, of turning my weird ideas and half-baked notions for potential plots, characters, random bits of dialogue of description, etc. into the books and stories that people read. (Or buy and promise to read later—it’s all good to me.) I don’t know that I necessarily have the perfect one-size fits-all writing advice (does anyone???). But what I do have is time to think and write about MY process/working methods. So think of a piece like this as less “How to” and more… “How I did.”
I’m a Structure Guy
No, I don’t mean the clothing brand from the late 90s. Remember them? I also don’t mean structure as in story-structure. I assume most writers have either (a) learned all the bits and pieces of 3-act structure, 5-act dramatic structure, Hero’s Journey, Freytag’s blah blah blah. OR (and this is maybe even more likely), they’ve consumed enough narrative fiction that these structural elements, signposts, markers to hit, cats to save, et cetera, are simply engrained in their storytelling DNA.
I come to writing and building stories from a combo of the scholar and the dreamer. If forced to, at gunpoint (and what kind of sicko would do this?), I could take one of my stories written pantser-style and map it to a specific formal story structure. Retrofitting narratives to these predetermined structural skeletons isn’t all that difficult. Most of them are simply another lens by which you can look at a story. Sometimes you’ll emphasize different beats but the basic beast remains the same.
So, if I’m not a jeans Structure guy OR a story structure guy, what the hell kind of structure-focused writer am I?
I’m glad you asked Rhetorical Question-Asking Patrick.
For me, the most important STRUCTURE is achieved via routines, habits, and patterns of working.
I keep a bullet journal (at least for the week days) where, prior to each new day, I outline the tasks to be covered in my day job, at-home life, and writing life. With that latter part, I include everything from correspondence to reading (gotta keep up with the genres in which I’m writing) and the actual writing (of course).
Every week day, I write for about 1.5 hours. I have set times during the day when I do this writing. 25-30 minutes around lunchtime. 25-30 minutes after the kids get home from school and have found a way to entertain themselves (hopefully!). 25-30 minutes in the evening after the kiddos are in bed.
[NOTE: that last sprint time is variable when it comes to my follow-through. If I’m working toward a deadline, then, damn right, I’m using that time. Otherwise, if it needs to be more of a “recharge the batteries and look at dumb shit online” time, then so be it.]
Sprinting
During these 2-3 writing sprints per week day, I have a fairly established methodology I like to follow. If I am working on a new project and it’s the first writing session, I endeavor to get down whatever I can within that 25-30 minute span.
Then, with the next writing session, I start from where I began the previous session. Yep, I’m one of those writers who edits while they write. Dun dun duuuuun! Usually (not always but usually) this revisit of previously written material is more polishing and refining than full-scale rip-out-the-drywall editing/revising. That’s likely because I haven’t created enough distance between myself and the words. Which is fine—because that’s not where I am in the process.
What happens, however, is that this tweaking and revising of what I worked on the previous sprint session then serves as fuel for the new material written in the back portion of the new sprint. Like a relay runner handing off the baton, I can make the switch from these small revisions to writing new text.
Like I said, this might not work for everyone but it works for me. I build up pieces this way, sprint after sprint and day after day. In 1-2 weeks, I can have a short story written and in 3-6 months I can have novel drafted (though I’ll admit there’s a greater chance for getting lost down rabbit holes or exploring dead-ends when it comes to drafting longer works in this fashion).
All of that is my preferred working method. When all else fails, I can count on writing 25-30 minutes, 2-3 times per day, at specific times. Having that structure keeps me grounded, keeps me focused.
But sometimes…
Sometimes the Story Wants More!
What do I mean by this? Well, I mean just what I’ve said. Sometimes you (you being me in this case) are working on a story (short story, article, novel, whatever), and it decides that it’s not happy with one or more of your preferred working methods.
Maybe it demands more time per session or per day. Maybe it wants you to write after breakfast instead of before lunch. Maybe the will to write only lasts for 5 or 10 minutes, instead of the usual half-hour. Maybe the urge to write strikes on the weekend when all this time you’ve been telling everyone that you only write on the week days.
All these things and more have happened to me. I’ve been on a roll and not wanted to stop when the timer I set to track my writing session rings out. I’ve been inspired after a hang session with writer friends on the weekend and returned home for some slightly buzzed typing. And there have been days when the Story Engine just plain stalls out and I find myself browsing social media, doing anything other than writing when I am supposed to be doing exactly that.
It happens! The question is: what do you do about it?
Sometimes You Listen
There are plenty of times when the break from routine is a good thing. The occasional variety is helpful for creativity. Like turning a picture from color to black-and-white or looking at a landscape while standing on your head. A different perspective, a new angle into the work, these small changes can affect the creative output.
And, of course, sometimes when you’re on a roll and the words are coming fast and furious, you just want to—need to—hold tight to the reins and ride the story for as long as you need to. There are moments when your usual writing rhythms are thrown out of whack, where story pacing changes—and it’s in those moments where you can tap into something unique.
As authors, we are our first audience, right? I think that there’s something to being able to surprise yourself when writing. Planner, plotter, platser, every type of writer can have these moments of mold-breaking and structure-defying and it’s in those moments where something truly memorable can and will be produced.
Sometimes You Don’t Listen
While all of what I have written in the previous section may be true, I also hold the seemingly contradictory belief that it’s quite often better to force yourself to stop if you’re going too long in your writing session or to push through if you’re falling short.
After all, the structure, the routine, the habits are in place for a reason once you’ve established them. You settle on these amounts, these working styles, and more because they work for you. For your best possible creative output.
There’s that cliché: trust in the process. That’s what I am talking about here. You may not like it at the time but you can find that denying yourself that extra time will help. The genius idea you’ve had but run out of time for may fade away, revealing itself to be not quite as “genius” as you first believed. OR you’ll find that the execution is improved, as the ideas have time to percolate in your head—either the conscious writer mind or the even better subconscious writer mind—and the result is something all the better because you waited.
Wrap it up, B.
I’ve had writing success with both tacks. I’ve broken new ground and reached exciting, unexpected territory when allowing my work to extend beyond the usual habits and routines. At the same time, some times in the same day, sticking to established patterns has helped save me from burn-out, from settling for the first thing that comes to mind instead of the best thing that comes to mind.
Chaotic order. Ordered chaos. For me, writing exists in that in-between state. What about you, dear readers? Are you married to the process? Or do you play fast and loose with writing habits—to such a degree that you make the word “habit” irrelevant?
Or are you like me?
Sound off in the comments.
