What’s Your Truth?
By Anna Elliott | July 6, 2017 |
Usually– well, almost usually– I have my Writer Unboxed posts done in advance of the day before I’m scheduled to post. This month, though, I’m kind of glad that the time got away from me, because otherwise I wouldn’t have been able to craft my post in response to Larry Brooks’ excellent article from Tuesday, The Big Lie About Writing Compelling Fiction.
If for some reason you weren’t spending your 4th of July hanging out here on WU and haven’t had a chance to catch up since, I highly recommend reading the article and also the excellent discussion that went on in the comments.
I found Larry’s article fascinating, and agreed with so much of what he had to say. In part because I could talk about my process in the way that Larry describes: “I just sit down and write, each and every day, following my gut, listening to my characters, and eventually the magic happens.” Heck, I have described my process that way– and the thing is, on some levels, it’s true.
I’ve read books on writing craft, our own Donald Maass’s among them. I think many of them are terrific. I read them, highlight them, scribble notes like, YES in the margins . . . and then utterly fail when I try to straight up implement the principles in my own work.
Have you read Save the Cat? Another terrific, terrific resource about story structure, albeit from a film-writing perspective rather than a novel-oriented one. Still, I read it and was amazed by how much wisdom Blake Snyder had to impart. I tried my hardest to apply his ‘beat sheet’ structure of plot points to the novel I was working on at the time, because I honestly thought it was a brilliant way of making both the internal and external journey of your main character as compelling as it can possibly be. It was an utter disaster. I probably re-wrote and re-outlined and laboriously re-wrote that novel half a dozen times, struggling to make the Blake Snyder Save the Cat system work for me. Eventually I just scrapped the whole thing. Maybe I’ll get back to it . . . someday. In the meantime, I’ve written 15 other novels, not one of which I outlined according to Save the Cat’s advice.
Save the Cat isn’t the only writing/outlining system that’s failed to work for me– I’ve tried other systems, other ways of structuring a story that look and sound terrific and even make utter sense to me on an artistic/craft level . . . and every time, struggling to make my story fit into the mold sucks every bit of joy out of the process and results in a complete mess. Although I DO make outlines when I write. I’m not a pantser. Basically, I have a process that works for me, and on some levels it does involve simply writing every day, listening to my gut instincts, getting to know my characters inside and out . . . and letting the magic happen. A friend of mine who’s been tiptoeing into fiction writing in the last months was asking my advice, and I’m afraid that’s pretty close to what I told her.
Reading Larry’s article, though, made me think about my process a little more deeply. No, I don’t ever manage to apply any patented story-structure advice in a strict way. But I have read the craft books, and maybe on some levels, I have absorbed the advice on an instinctive level.
More than that, though, I read constantly– and critically. Any time I pick up a book, even a light, fun read, I’m highlighting it, searching for what story elements worked for me and what didn’t, what parts I was tempted to skim, what made the characters and their journey compelling.
I watch TV and movies the same way– literally with a notepad in hand, scribbling down notes about story structure, compelling rhythms of dialogue, humor, tension, etc. If I’ve been able to soak up Larry’s principles of writing compelling fiction, I think it’s because I’m just happiest when I’m constantly immersed in some kind of story and thinking about that story in a critical way.
That’s really my process, the truth of it. Which I’ll have to be sure to tell my friend the next time I see her.
What’s the truth of your writing process? Do you just sit down and let the magic happen, or is there more?
Anna Elliott is an author of historical fiction and fantasy. Her first series, the Twilight of Avalon trilogy, is a retelling of the Trystan and Isolde legend. She wrote her second series, the Pride and Prejudice Chronicles, chiefly to satisfy her own curiosity about what might have happened to Elizabeth Bennet, Mr. Darcy, and all the other wonderful cast of characters after the official end of Jane Austen’s classic work. She enjoys stories about strong women, and loves exploring the multitude of ways women can find their unique strengths. Anna lives in the Washington DC area with her husband and three children.
Anna–reading your post today I’ve concluded we are kindred spirits. Like you, I read voraciously and broadly, and watch TV shows with study in mimd; I gobble up craft books as much as I can. I do this for about 3 hours every day and treat it as work that’s just as critical as the 2 hours spent writing.
But when it comes to writing, I just do it. I used to take notes when I read craft books but I’ve stopped because I’ve found it slows down my absorption and in the end doesn’t add to my writing. I used to make outlines or fill in charts or forms I’d pick up in a writer self-help book, but this always led to extra material that impeded the choices I need to be making in the story.
But, wonderfully, when I jump in and when I write, all the little inspirations add up. What’s lost is lost, but it’s what’s gained and applied that counts. It’s so easy to get obsessed with learning and applying absolutely every little thing, but, ask me, where’s the fun in that?
Thanks for mentioning Save the Cat. Every morning when I do get in here its just before heading out the door, while I’m feeding the cats, so you better bet this recommendation is going to stick.
Yes, definitely writing kindred spirits here, that’s very much how I feel! And just like you say, all the little inspirations add up. I really do recommend Save the Cat if you get the chance to check it out. I may not be able to apply it directly to my books, but I feel like on some level, some of the principles seep in all the same. I hope. :)
I have 20 books behind me (under other names). You don’t get that far without soaking up quite a bit of wisdom from others.
At a certain point, though, you leave the wisdom behind and just engage in the art. The gurus–and the good ones are good–can illuminate the secrets of story but they cannot sit in your chair and write your particular story.
Here’s my Big Truth: every project requires a new process. The writing of every book is unique. I have accepted that and even embrace it.
I love that writing is a constant discovery. How dull it would be if it wasn’t!
“You leave the wisdom behind and just engage in the art.” I love that way of putting it! And I completely agree– each of my books is slightly different and requires a new process of discover, too. That’s part of the real magic of storytelling, I think!
Hey, Anna,
My current work is heavily plotted and laid out on a grid. Too much to keep track of. It takes place in the 90’s and follows a very strict timeline. You can’t imagine (or maybe you can) how much has changed in such a little time, especially technology and the vocabulary that’s come of it. Words that are so common today you’d think they’d been around forever didn’t even exist back then.
But this work started as a seat-of-the-pants piece. I had no idea what I was writing, I just let the words flow. As the story unfolded, its complexity let itself be known and I had to ramp up my process.
Most pieces begin like that for me, although I always end up plotting at some point.
Oooooh yeah, I write historical fiction, so yes, very familiar with how many words you would think you could use but can’t. I often have a similar approach– write my way into a story, just feeling my way, but then hit a point where I know I need to get very organized and chart it all out.
Anna, great piece, very thoughtful and honest. I always feel there are too many people out there who are trying to “sell” their advice, when what works for one person, won’t work for the next. Sure, there are some basic rules but beyond them, the art of creation is essentially an act of LOVE…
You fall in love with your characters, you relate to them emotionally, positively and, yes, also negatively. Some characters are awful, evil people! And what they do is despicable! But then, your job is to describe them, report on what they do as clearly as possible. Make them real in the eyes of your readers!
That is what the act of writing is all about for me. And I notice that others who have commented before me all say the same thing. They use different words but it all comes down to one thing: enjoying that moment of creation. If you don’t enjoy it, you’ll never get that first draft written!
The outlines, the grid-making, all the tricks of the writing trade come later, when you start editing that first draft…Anyhow, that’s how I see it and that’s how it works for me. If I don’t have a whale of fun writing that first draft, I’ll simply stop writing!
And don’t get me started on editing, I hate it. But it’s a necessary evil, you have to do it, full stop. Whether you like it or not…
How well you put it– creation is an act of love. So profound and so true. My turning point when it came to writing villains was to realize that no one is a villain inside their own head– even evil, awful characters think they have good reasons for doing evil things. So I always try to understand those reasons, which makes me able to love– or at least understand– my villains, even though they’re still the force of evil that needs to be defeated in the story.
Yes, I’ve been called a “pantser” many times because I write by the seat of my pants. lol. I can’t outline for squat, though I have tried. My characters drive my stories and I follow them through the process. I don’t trust myself enough yet to have published anything but short stories, but I am hard at work writing novels. I have just recently started reading with a critical eye as you describe. But for me, it’s more like awe. I love the whole process and am always amazed by what people write – even me.
Loving the whole process is, I think, the absolute most important piece of the puzzle! And I’d rather write a novel than a short story any day– short stories are SO much harder for me because they have to be so concise. Which is just to say don’t sell yourself short– crafting short stories takes some serious skills, which will no doubt serve you well when it comes to writing a longer piece.
Hey Anna, I too am a scribbler of copious notes. They’re often inspired by the stories I consume (books, TV and movies). But most often they’re written right when I get up, or out of the shower, or – most of all – right after my daily walk.
It’s funny, speaking of developing a process, but I always have these piles of notes on my desk, and yet I often neglect to even reread them as I’m writing. Funnier still, I’ve almost always somehow incorporated them anyway. Occasionally I go back and do minor tweaking based on the piles of notes, but it’s rare that I need to.
I guess it’s sort of like gathering strands that I eventually spin into the yarn, which I then can’t help but use in the story weave. It’s worth considering, but I find that the main thing is to keep moving forward. We can’t help but to evolve as we do. I think I’d be more worried if I didn’t. Fun stuff, Anna!
Vaughn, I really relate to your process, it was like seeing my own. Especially the notes scribbled everywhere that often don’t get read again until the revision process begins. Every once in awhile a note gives me an ‘aha’ moment but usually they’ve already been incorporated. i like the way you put “”it’s sort of like gathering strands that I eventually spin into yarn…” I’ve described my process in a very similar fashion substituting the word tapestry for your yarn.
Hi Vaughn! Yep, that’s very much how I work. Although I’ve managed to make myself keep a specific file on my laptop for the notes that I used to scribble down on random bits of paper. Amazingly (for me, since organization is not my strongest skill) that actually works better than all the paper bits. Like you say, we really do evolve and improve with time. :)
Same here.
Anna–
Thanks for this post. I think it “speaks truth to power.” By this I mean that you’ve described personal experiences at odds with prevailing–that is, current–experts, and their notions of how to master craft.
There’s no reason to argue with people who insist how-to books help them with their writing. That’s good. But your personal experience describes in concrete terms what I’ve thought for some time: the study of craft can get in the way of craft. I think it can mire writers in something like an instructional tar baby. It can paralyze with theory. And: if a writer spends lots of time taking courses, studying craft books, etc., that time is not being spent reading works of fiction.
But I also think this process can as well create a false sense of accomplishment. Writers who devote lots of time to researching theories of how to write are not writing their stories. But I imagine a fair number of such students still feel a sense of conscientiousness and fulfillment.
Thanks again. I happen to think the best instruction for writers ought to fit on a 3 by 5 card. Okay, then, make it 4 by 6.
Hi Barry, I absolutely couldn’t agree more with everything you say, at least for me. I’m not knocking craft books or conferences or classes or seminars or critique circles. Everyone has to discover their process and for some, that probably works great; certainly there’s a whole lot of wisdom to be found in all of those arenas. It’s just that for me, absolutely nothing worked as well as simply immersing myself in works of fiction– both other peoples’ and my own.
Larry — I want to add to this conversation because my read on what Barry is saying in his comment (and it’s an echo of what I said above) is not that craft books and courses are useless, but that writers who cling to them as a sure path can miss the fundamentals of what leads to great writing — namely, the need to read broadly and the need to do the writing, rather than do all kinds of work getting ready to write and lots of work about writing that isn’t writing.
So a writer has studied book X and highlighted every section and have it ready as as checklist to implement in their manuscript, and theyo share that on Twitter and Facebook and tell all their writing friends. Look at me, I’m an amazing writer now! Meanwhile, many other writers quietly toil away and apply what they’ve learned, from craft books and courses and workshops as well as from reading and practice and growth.
Einstein had a simple formula that’s stuck with me since my high school chemistry teacher pinned it up on the wall:
Let A+B+C=success. Then A=hard work, B=hard work, and C=shut your mouth.
For what it’s worth I’ve read Story Engineering and drew a great many helpful things from it. But of course, there is no one ring to rule the all, only twilight beneath the woods, and the trees are many and their song deep and enchanting to the wanderer.
I need to take this opportunity to vent a little. :) This is regarding the plethora of writing instruction workshops, books, blogs, what-have-you. We know the majority of material that comprise these teachings come from craft fundamentals that have been around for eons. And that’s wonderful. Different instructors will resonate differently for each writer, and we gravitate to whatever style/voice/platform appeals to us most.
What’s not so great is when a writing instructor takes a commonly used term, one that’s familiar to 99% of the writing community, and renames it. It’s as if they lift their leg on it to mark it as exclusively their own, when it is not. So terms for backstory, plot, turning point, climax, scene, etc. suddenly become something unique to the teacher and is marketed as such.
It’s not like the adopted terminology is trademarked, so writing instructors can do what they want. However, this is a terrible disservice to emerging writers trying to learn the craft. I see it often. Let’s say a writer doesn’t know what backstory is and when you explain it, they’re like “Oh! You mean *blah blah*?” Because *blah blah* is what Madam Teacher of the Best Writing Method In The World calls it. I call it BS.
Stepping off my soap box now. :)
I think Writer Unboxed needs to write a blog about this, and point out the most commonly accepted terminology that exists for the craft of writing fiction.
‘What’s the truth of your writing process? Do you just sit down and let the magic happen, or is there more?’
There’s more.
Great post, Anna. it’s encouraging to see everyone’s process is so different, yet we’ve all found ways to make our study of craft fit our own process. My process is virtually identical to Vaughn’s, so i won’t repeat it. Thanks!
I’m always encouraged and interested to hear other people’s processes, too, Deb. It’s nice to have confirmation that there really is no wrong way, as long as what you’re doing is working and getting the books written.
Thank goodness I’m not alone regarding process. I read Save the Cat, I liked Save the Cat. Couldn’t use Save the Cat and felt defeated. I realized my process is my process and it is ever evolving. The fact I have one and I learn from each book on writing which is good.
We should start a ‘I liked Save the Cat but totally couldn’t use it’ support group. :-)
Actually… a new book, “Drown the Cat: The Rebel Author’s Guide to Writing Beyond the Rules,” just came out!
Oh my goodness, that’s hilarious. I thought you were joking at first, but no, it’s a real book. I’ll definitely have to check it out!
Hi Anna:
The first rule of Write Club is there are no rules at Write Club.
This, to me, was the heart of the post: “More than that, though, I read constantly– and critically.”
It reminds me of Jim Frey’s Ten Rules of Writing:
1. Read
2. Read
3. Read
4. Write
5. Write
6. Write
7. Suffer
8. Suffer
9. Suffer
10. Don’t use too many exclamation points.
I do read writing guides — and have written one, working on another — and the best give simple, straightforward advice:
“Stories aren’t about what happens; they’re about what goes wrong.”
“In every scene, first imagine what the character would most naturally do, given what’s come before. Then make his problem worse. Then end the scene in a way that feels both surprising and inevitable.”
“Don’t pile on complications; make the core problem worse.”
Those are all from Steven James’ STORY TRUMPS STRUCTURE, and it’s the best advice I’ve read in a long while.
And I do think, when we plow through these guides and underline, highlight, add margin notes, etc, we do take in the advice at some level.
But the best teachers are always, always the writers we admire. “Writers are readers inspired to emulation.” That quote form Saul Bellow has probably served me better than any other.
As for the truth of my process, interestingly enough it’s evolving, even at this stage of my career, which I address in my post next Tuesday. But yeah, I need an outline, or at least a sense of direction, and understanding of what the big idea is. I need to feel both engaged with my characters and a little baffled by them, even a bit frightened of them. Until they feel larger than my contrived understanding of them, I’m not ready to write.
“Until they feel larger than my contrived understanding of them, I’m not ready to write.” That is such a profound way of thinking about your characters, and so profoundly true! I’m pasting that right into my folder of favorite quotes on writing, seriously.
Nothing original about those principles quoted here, they exist in some similar form in every worthy craft book floating around out there.
Thanks for mentioning Jim’s article on the ten rules. I found it on his website and read it all. His advice of incorporating practice writing by coying masters has sparked my curiosity.
I guess I’m the oddball, because I start with what I feel would be a great ending and ‘panster’ my way back to how the characters got there.
I don’t think that’s oddball at all– I often start with the ending, although after that I outline my way towards it rather than pants it. But either way, the important thing is that it works for you!
Anna – first off, thanks for your kind words about my recent WUB post in teeing up your article today.
I’d like to point something out: what you’re writing about – which is spot on – is PROCESS. Yours is yours to choose, nobody can tell you that you should be doing things differently. Until, that is, you drill down to the criteria for a functioning story that you are shooting for.
Which isn’t process… that is a discussion about PRODUCT.
You aren’t saying, that I could tell, that there are different core dramatic principles for every writer, or that the writer gets to (or should) make up their own principles. And thank goodness you aren’t saying that… because that’s just not true. All our stories, while not brought forth from the same processes, are absolutely informed by the same robust set of core principles of efficacy.
Baseline truth: the conversation relative to teaching and learning about process is a different set of stuff than a focus on the underlying core principles that make a story work well. Or not.
And yet… notice in nearly every response, these writers are piling on as if they don’t understand that difference. They’re all anxious to assert that they write from their gut, that they can’t outline (not something to brag about, by the way), that they do it their way… none of which even hints at an understanding of how a story needs to unfold on the page. Including one puffed up guy, who basically insulted all of us who write about those very principles, which are the very SAME principles that infuse his own books with efficacy. He’d rather we believe he’s just a genius, but he didn’t invent a single one of the principles that inform his or any other piece of work, no matter what his process. And trust me, it can’t fit on a 3 by 5 card.
I was disappointed to read that you agree with everything he said.
This pretty much sums up what I wrote about a few days ago, which was the imprecise and often misleading and even toxic nature of the writing conversation. Too many can’t tell the difference, and run around telling the world they do it from instinct and know everything they need to know… when in fact, that message, while perhaps true (for them, at least in their mind), usually isn’t credible, especially on the last point.
And thus, the reason only about 10 out of every 1000 manuscripts submitted to publishers ever see a bookshelf is explained.