Rumination Frustration
By Sarah Callender | August 13, 2014 |
I find myself in the writing phase I call Rumination. Julia Monroe Martin’s great post on this topic reminds me that some writers take and find pleasure in this phase. There are times I do, too, when I love the Rumination phase because everything—every character, every plot—is possible. The world feels like my oyster!
But after six months stuck in Rumination, the world just feels like my goiter.
I want to be in the phase called Putting Story on Paper. Or, Now We’re Cookin’. How about Actual Writing Beyond Page 30. In Rumination, the phase of infinite possibilities, I have shared no fewer than ten versions of the same thirty pages with my dear and patient writing partners. I have shared no fewer than five of these drafts with my dear and patient agent. Bless them. It’s embarrassing, really, to keep believing I have finally figured out this story, only to sit with a draft of a few scenes and realize, No. It’s not quite there. This is, for some reason, not quite right.
I like efficiency. I like doing things right the first time. I don’t like dillydallying. I am impatient. I never cook risotto because I lack the patience to stir and stir and stir. It’s a good thing that God or Someone invented Italian restaurants; otherwise perfectly cooked pearls of risotto would ne’er have passed my lips.
But I am determined to out-patience this motley cast of characters, this recalcitrant, tight-lipped bunch that’s driving me crazy. Crazier. They are making me work for this paycheck.
Or maybe they are simply gestating. While I am ready to get this story-baby rolling, perhaps these characters are still too tiny to be born, too comfy in their partially-concealed literature-wombs. I remind myself that I don’t want these characters coming out before they (or I) am ready. Preemies have a hard time thriving in this rough, dark world.
I must be patient.
I am tired of being patient! I am tired of following these blokes around in my head, in my dreams, in my subconscious, waiting to understand them, waiting to write their biography.
Still, I remind myself that when an egg and a sperm meet, it doesn’t look anything like a baby. It takes a while for things to become a baby. Even when the cell-blob starts to look more like a quivering peanut, and then like the subject of Edvard Munch’s “The Scream” (as my daughter did), it’s not ready to be born.
It’s the same with birthing characters. A lot of waiting must take place, a lot of cell-dividing, a lot of unattractive, unusable words must be written before a healthy character, one able to thrive in this dark-but-beautiful world, is born.
I remind myself that when my real babies were born, I loved them right away. I also thought that I, their mamacita, knew them through and through. But one’s children, like one’s characters, hold tight to secrets. What we see of them is merely an iceberg tip.
An example: I know my son, now eleven years old (with the maturity of an eight-year-old and the pre-teen alligator brain that has suddenly replaced his regular brain) better than anyone. I knew he was oblivious to the opposite sex, borderline grossed-out by even the idea of romantic affection. But at the start of summer, I read an email exchange between him and friend and learned my alligator-brained son has a crush on a girl named Ella. A crush! On a girl named Ella! I have never even heard of Ella! I didn’t know he was capable of these feelings. I didn’t know something so important about my own son.
My husband of sixteen years, he too has secrets. An introvert, he recently read the book Quiet, after which he shared with me this fact: Introverts often rehearse everything they want to say before they say it aloud.
I, also an introvert, was surprised. I am a blurter, not a rehearser. “Wow,” I said. “That would take a lot of time.” I studied him. “But . . . you don’t do that. Do you?”
He looked at the wall over my shoulder. “I rehearse everything I say, sometimes a few times, before it comes out of my mouth.”
Are you kidding me? First of all, Wow! That explained so much. Second of all, I know this man better than anyone, but I didn’t know he test-spoke everything before the words were uttered.
It’s easy to confuse loving someone with knowing him. It shouldn’t surprise me then, that my newborn characters are still keeping secrets from me. So I will wait. I will keep stirring that dang risotto. Experimenting. Trusting the process. Writing character sketches and scenes in which I test-write voice, perspective, and character motivation. I will use Donald Maass and Lisa Cron for inspiration. I will use online, end-of-season clothing sales for distraction.
We can put an itsy-bitsy computer on a pair of glasses, we can receive groceries via drones, but there’s no way to medically induce a cast of characters. They will arrive not on a specific due date. They will arrive when they are good and ready. And when I think about it, I wouldn’t want it any other way.
SOS! Will you share your methods for getting to know your characters? What are your feelings about the Rumination phase? I think drone deliveries are creepy-yet-energy-efficient; do you?
A Middle Grade novelist (and Middle School English teacher), Sarah Callender lives in Seattle with her family. Because Sarah dislikes cleaning anything that will just get messy again, she tidies the house and weeds the yard only when absolutely necessary. This allows her time to focus on her true–and somewhat fraught–passions: writing, Abe Lincoln, and Tony’s Chocolonely chocolate bars. Equally passionate about mental health advocacy, Sarah is a member of The Stability Network. Sarah’s first novel, LUCY IN BETWEEN, will be published by Margaret Ferguson Books/Holiday House in 2026.
Profound and clever, as usual, Sarah. I did not miss your capital ‘S’ on ‘…God or Someone…’ Inspired.
My characters? At the base, my protagonists are someone I wish I had become or someone I detest.
Sarah, you share your drafts with writing partners and your agent? What courage! I don’t share my working drafts with anybody because they are like you say, still in the womb. My stories come in stages, a running start at the beginning and then we all slow down to a trot as characters grow and create the action. I’m comfortable with that pace. Basically I’m like the farmer who is excited for the crops to mature, but refrains from pulling the roots up as the light of day will disrupt the growth. I like the darkness for my stories and characters–safe and warm. I think they do too.
Yes! That’s such a great analogy. My husband’s the gardener in the family. Sometimes, when he pulls up the carrots that seem “ready” they are midgets . . . and appear to have a few “legs.”
Farming and writing can be scary! Who knows what’s going on under ground.
I’m still stirring that risotto, too, as you know… and I also don’t consider myself patient but it’s true that I’m trying to relax as I cook and enjoy the process and I do rehearse everything before I say it, too. I love your comparison to cooking risotto (perfect description of what I’m going through) and like you I’m not crazy about the fact that “there’s no way to medically induce a cast of characters,” it is truly frustrating. So here’s to sooner rather than later for both of us. (And thanks for the shout out!)
Amen, Julia! When I read your post, I knew I had to incorporate your
“cooking” analogy into my post. Thanks for letting me riff off of you.
Well, I’m actually pleased. And that’s in addition to being thoroughly amused and reflective. There’s actually something parent-like about me. And here I thought I had not a parental bone in my body (or head). When I’m around children, and their parents show up or take notice, I’m often scolded (“You shouldn’t let them do that,” or “You can tell them no, you know;” stuff like that). But I’m like you in that I think I know my characters better than anyone in the world.
My characters seem to arrive in my world so fully formed. And yet, even after years and years with them, they continue to surprise me with hidden depths. Turns out they were much more amoeba-like than I could discern. Well, emotionally amoeba-like, anyway. They’d always seemed so sparkly (not in a vampire way), so pretty (angels with dirty faces). But they’re not. I keep finding out that they’re scarred and parts of them are broken–that they keep those things hidden away.
It’s taken me so damn long to find this stuff out. I feel like an archaeologist with one of those little brushes, cleaning away the sand a few grains at a time, when I want to just take a big old garden spade and unearth them, already. But that’s not allowed. It’s all too fragile.
Since this is as close to parent-like as I’m going to get, I wish mine had taught me a bit more patience. At least I know my drone-delivered groceries are going to be arriving soon. That’ll help. Thanks for making me laugh, think, and feel parental, Sarah!
Yes! A little tiny brush trying to excavate a T-Rex. Brilliant, Vaughn. THAT is a profession I could never choose.
Thank you for sharing your beautiful words. Beautiful words + beautiful person = beautiful novels.
:)
What enlightened ruminations, Sarah. In my experience, my characters usually begin to emerge as fully formed at around the third draft. If I don’t know them by then, I never will. Just as characters experience an epiphany, there is for me that awesome moment when I say, ‘Ah-ha, I know this character!’ The ‘child growing up’ example you use is a good one. I’ve been there. I found out my son was in a relationship on Facebook and I didn’t dare ask for details or he would have un-friended me. It’s the same with characters. The more time you spend with them, the more they grow and take shape. Good luck with your WIP!
The third draft! That is so encouraging. Thank you, CG, for giving me permission to wait some more. But this is a good reminder that it’s OK for me to push out that crappy first draft . . . along the way, maybe I’ll get to know that which I don’t know already.
I am such a plotter that the idea of start when characters aren’t fully formed is a little uncomfy.
Thank you for your wisdom.
I love the rumination phase, but I also get impatient with it. I’m guilty of starting the writing (birthing?) process too soon, in the midst of that giddy, I’ve just seen the ultrasound of my new characters and fallen madly in love phase. You are so correct in stating that just because we love someone (real or fictional) that doesn’t necessarily mean we know them.
What I do, because I know I’m probably going to rush things every stinking time, is write those first chapters very slowly. I’ll ease my way into the story and let those two phases overlap a bit. I’ll keep laying down story tracks ahead of where I’m at, and keep circling those characters and observing them, getting in close, but also getting as distant a perspective as I can of the story as a whole, so I can see who they are at the beginning, and who they will become, because knowing both of those things helps me know both of those things better.
I hope that made at least a bit of sense. I’m on my first cuppa this AM.
Makes perfect sense, Lori. Thanks for these wise words . . . it is SO hard to be patient.
Ah, I do so love this phase … actually, I’m often in this phase because I work on multiple projects so a part of my brain is ALWAYS working out stuff.
My favorite way to get to know characters is to have them write letters to each other, or to me. What and how they share tells me so much about who they are and how they relate to one another.
Happy reading, writing and ruminating, Sarah.
I find that my characters come to me when they are ready. Right now, I have characters who are very ready so the writing and revising is going well. There are other characters who are not even close to ready, so I struggle to write their story. It is a good lesson in patience.
Sarah–
Witty, heartfelt, telling–yours is as good a take on the character “birthing process” as anyone is ever likely to read–thank you! But it is all from the womanly distaff side, so it leaves something–not much–to be said from the spear side.
Like real children, my characters certainly go through developmental stages. But they come into the world and onto the page pretty much the way Athena is born out of Zeus’s temple. There he/she is, intact, all her toes and fingers where they belong, ready to grow up into something awesome. It will take time, but my children begin pretty much fully formed, waiting to be revealed as persons. As for the risotto effect, were I forced to stir and nurture as you do –no smoking and no drinking for months!–I am sure my own impatience meter would crater and blow up. Sad to say, I think I would have to wave goodbye to the whole scribbling enterprise, and open a cheese shop. But this is not the case with you, which just adds further evidence to what all honest people know: women are stronger.
If you open a cheese shop, I will be your first customer.
Thanks for YOUR wise and witty words.
What great insights, delivered with such honesty. Thank you.
As for your questions, instinctively I know the ruminations are necessary, certainly at the start and at times in the heart of the writing. But I struggle with the accompanying emotions. When I’m actively progressing on the writing, even in difficult periods, I feel productive. I am a writer! But when the ruminations linger, and linger, doubts creep in. What am I doing? Perhaps I’m fooling myself … am I really a writer?
The only solution I’ve found is to give those voices the floor, briefly, then shush them away. Nothing to be gained there. Then I take another walk, one of many, or long drives accompanied by my iTunes. Eventually, when they’re ready, the characters will share enough to get started, or moving again.
Maybe you should take your son for a long walk to see if he opens up about Ella ;).
As for drone deliveries – creepy but cool. A gelato delivery during one of my long hikes would likely win me over.
I love that you compare your story to a child, Sarah. What parent would send their toddler off into the world unsupervised? (No sane one I can think of.) Similarly, developing a book takes time, not just from rumination where an embryo grows to an infant, but all the way through those ruddy teenage years to adulthood. If we can wait long enough and see it through all those stages we can be rest assured our story is going to stand strong and make us proud.
Good I, too, am an introvert. I find when I rehearse beforehand I end up flubbing it, but when I speak off the cuff I wish I had thought before I spoke. I joke to my friends that the reason I chose to be a writer is because there’s grace to revise what I said wrong the first time.
I think stories are just like those conversations too. I don’t approach my projects just by going over them again and again (though I do these bulk revisions to move things forward), but rather I think about all the sentences in it and the moment I think of a better way to write one I open my manuscript, find it, and improve. The finished book I hope to see will be a result of intentional, directed revisions and utilization of craft strategies (I’m loving Donald Maass, Noah Lukeman, and Dave King as my gurus right now), daily inspiration from books, movies, and (failed) conversations, and all those moments stolen away to fix a sentence here and there.
Such a beautiful response, John. Thank you!
I had trouble getting to know my MC’s husband. I wrote the whole first draft and still couldn’t quite get him right. Then I tried out the app someone on WU mentioned – FlashFace – and once I had his face I could see into his soul. It was amazing. The eyes and hair and chin, etc., I chose brought him out of my head and onto the page. I’ll never write another thing without seeing the character’s face first.
Thank you for this post and your honesty in admitting how difficult it is. Sometimes, when I’ve been stuck, I’ve sorted through my own feelings and discovered that I’m afraid to write what comes next because I don’t know how. Actually, I don’t THINK I know how. Until I begin to ask, what has to happen and who has to do it? Do my MCs or does someone else? Because I get to know them, and myself, best by letting them do things.
Or, I’m stuck because I don’t know what my characters should be doing next. What should should my characters be working toward? What pressures are they under? Then, who they are begins to arise out of how they approach what they have to do or what’s being forced upon them. If I’ve been delving into the recesses of their souls, then that gives me some grist.
And, sometimes, when I’m not sure what to write next, I just skip ahead to scene I do know is coming and want to write and have some fun with these people again. And, discover them, too.