Road, Neighborhood, Sky: A Three-Layered Approach to Writing a Novel
By Barbara Linn Probst | September 16, 2020 |
During the launch events for Queen of the Owls, I was often asked: “What’s your writing process like?” People wanted to know if I had a routine, method, daily word count, comfort food, or other habit that carried me from story idea to published book. Since I tend to avoid routine, I usually muttered something about ideas coming to me in the shower and the oscillation between frenzy and sloth. In fact, “writing process” wasn’t something I thought about. I thought about what I was writing, not how I was writing it.
Later, though, I got interested in the question and began to realize that I really do have a particular way I go about writing a novel, even though I’d never formulated it—until now.
I’m calling my process Road, Sky, Neighborhood—three nouns that signify the three realms in which I work. Not all at once, and not sequentially, but shifting among them, each shedding new light on the others.
- By Road, I mean the forward-moving path of the story, the chain of events that take the reader from the first scene of the book to the last (even if the story doesn’t follow a strict chronology)
- By Sky, I mean the analytic or thematic level, which exists at a “higher conceptual altitude,” above the path of the story events
- By Neighborhood, I mean all the elements that surround the story—the setting, the details of the characters’ lives, the supplementary information I need to gather (so-called “background research”) that gives the story texture and depth
I’ll give some examples so you can see what I mean, drawing from my own work because that’s what I know best.
Road:
When I worked on Queen of the Owls, I had a general vision of the road ahead, right from the start. I knew who was driving the car, where she started, and where she needed to end up—but very little else. I didn’t know all the stops she would need to make along the way, nor the potholes and traffic jams she would encounter. I had the bones of the story, but not the details. In writer-talk, I didn’t know all the plot-points and events.
In fact, I don’t find it especially helpful to know all the details ahead of time—that would be like starting on a road trip, already knowing exactly what you’ll be ordering at every diner along the way! Nor am I someone who simply sets out and hopes for the best.
For me, it’s more like the experience of driving in the fog. You know your eventual destination, as well as the major turns and highways you’ll have to take, and you can see some of what’s around and ahead, but not everything. As you move forward, the next segment of road gradually comes into view, becoming more and more distinct as you approach. You can’t see everything that’s ahead, only as far as the next streetlight—the next part of the story, bit by bit. And then, when you circle back and drive that road again, you see things you missed. That’s the process of revision, when you catch you need to add, delete, enrich, or change.
Neighborhood:
At various points during my writing process—not just during the “advance research,” but periodically—I get off the main road to explore the surrounding neighborhood. There’s much to learn from the landscape, the architecture, the characters who lived in the houses and walk along the streets. For example, there’s an evocative scene early in Queen of the Owls when Elizabeth, the protagonist, visits the greenhouse at the university where she works. I knew I couldn’t write that scene “from the road.” I had to enter that greenhouse, see the colors, experience the sensation of the heavy moist heat. Sometimes I do that literally, and sometimes it’s in my memory or imagination. And out of that “side trip,” an important scene came to me—a key moment that could have happened nowhere else and that activates the longing that propels Elizabeth into the acts that follow.
While I explore the neighborhood, I get to know the people who inhabit the side streets—touring their homes, poking into their cupboards and closets and photo albums, sharing a cup of coffee. With Queen of the Owls, the more I got to know the secondary characters, the more they showed me what they could do to enhance the narrative and move the plot toward its necessary conclusion. I imagined what they looked like, heard their voices; in some cases, I even wrote their backstories, although those backstories don’t (and shouldn’t) appear in the final book.
Another aspect of the neighborhood, in addition to its setting and inhabitants, is its history. With Queen of the Owls, that meant learning about Georgia O’Keeffe, whose life and art frame the story. To get to know O’Keeffe, I not only read everything about her that I could find, but went to see her paintings and the places she had lived, literally exploring her neighborhood!
I’ve done that with each of my other books, too. For my second book (coming in April 2021) which is framed by music, I found that I had to keep returning to the piano, which I play, to re-ground myself in the world of the protagonist. I also listened to a lot of music and spoke with professional musicians—which I’m not—so I could understand their struggles. For my third book (even though I’m only on the first draft), I’ve taken multiple side-trips to learn about glassblowing, the art form that anchors the story. I spent two days at the Corning Museum of Glass, interviewed glassblowers, and watched them work. I even found a Dutch glass artist whose work is eerily relevant to my book, and we’ve developed a strong virtual friendship. And yes, I tried it myself!
Sky:
In contrast to the lateral movement and sensory immersion in what I’m calling the neighborhood, there’s also a vertical movement into the “higher altitude” of the sky where I look down at the road from a more cerebral, analytical perspective. It’s here that I ponder what my writing mentor Sandra Scofield calls a book’s aboutness—its essence, themes, and motifs—as well as the “story logic” of cause-and-effect.
I keep a separate analytic document (several, actually) throughout my writing process, adding and changing them as the story evolves. They help me to think and choose. What makes this kind of document different from an outline is that items are organized conceptually, not sequentially, although sometimes it’s both.
For example, while I was writing Queen of the Owls, I had one document that mapped out the four key “peaks” in the story, each depicting a major step Elizabeth takes—something she actually does, after which things can’t be the same. Between each of these peaks, I filled in the minor steps leading up to it and the consequences that followed. I didn’t know what all the minor steps and consequences were when I began to write, so I added them gradually. Without that analytic document, I wouldn’t have known what I needed or where to place them.
I had another document that organized and tracked the roles Elizabeth plays—since Queen of the Owls is about her search for a truer self behind all those roles—and the settings in which she plays them. That allowed me to create scenes, at key points in the story, when a role intruded into a setting where it didn’t belong or two roles collided. It also allowed me to make the setting more intentional—for example, to change a neutral coffee shop to a children’s playground, where Elizabeth’s role as mother would be evoked and intrude into an erotically-charged scene with an enticing photographer, adding conflict and tension.
Another document I like to create is one that tracks the appearance of an object—an icon—that represents the protagonist’s journey. For Elizabeth’s journey from concealment to exposure, the gradual removal of her clothing and the “journey” of her nude photos (spoiler alert if you haven’t read the book yet) needed to unfold through moments of increasing visibility and intensity. I needed to track where they occurred in the book and to make sure the spacing was right. I also did that for less central items. One was hair, which recurred throughout the book in different characters and different ways, illustrating their attitudes toward their female selves.
In the new book I’m working on, the protagonist’s journey from the “planned” to the “unplanned” (from contraction and safety to expansion and risk) proceeds through literal changes in her route through Iceland. Each deviation is a bigger shift than the previous ones, bringing greater vulnerability—and greater possibility.
There are many kinds of analytic documents, depending on the nature and needs of the story. For me, stepping away from the story to think from this kind of “higher altitude” always leads to fresh insights and a clearer sense of what is needed. It’s an important way that I become surprised and delighted.
The way these three parts of the process work together will always be different, and there are no rules for when or how often it’s helpful to shift from one to the other. For some writers, the analytic realm might not be as natural or appealing as forays into the adjacent neighborhood, or vice versa. Me? I really need all of them! I find that each perspective has something important to offer as I seek to create the very best version of my story that I can.
What about you? Does one of these dimensions appeal to you more than the others? Does one seem entirely foreign to your way of working? Are you tempted to give it a try now? Do you go back-and-forth, as I do, or do you work more sequentially, moving from concept to detail?
[coffee]
Barbara (she/her) is an author of contemporary women’s fiction living on an historic dirt road in New York’s Hudson Valley. Each of her acclaimed novels (Queen of the Owls, 2020; The Sound Between the Notes, 2021; and The Color of Ice, 2022) was a medalist for prestigious national awards, including the Sarton Award for Contemporary Fiction, the Independent Book Publishers Award, the Hawthorne Prize, and the Nautilus Award for Fiction. Her fourth novel, Roll the Sun Across the Sky, launches in May 2025 and has received stellar advance praise. Barbara has also published more than 80 articles on the craft of writing and the writing life. She has a PhD in Clinical Social Work and has been a therapist, teacher, researcher, and advocate for out-of-the-box kids and their families. When not writing, she’s a serious amateur pianist and a traveler to spots from Iceland to the Himalayas. Learn more on her website .
Barbara, thank you for this awesome post! These three dimensions figure into my own way of working. It’s hard to pick a favorite but if I were forced to choose, I’d say ‘sky’, but all three are necessary. Having read Queen of the Owls (loved!), I remember your wonderful use of hair. For the book I’m writing now, I used an outline based on those peaks, which have acted as beacons to keep me on the road. But I could never resist a side-road, especially a dirt one. I’ve hit dead-ends, but mostly I’ve found gifts and surprises. In yoga they teach that a strong foundation allows you to soar. I think it applies to writing, too.
Oh, I love the nuance you offer of the different kinds of side roads we can take, as we explore … well-traveled, short-cuts, dead-ends, dirt roads, paved ones. And yes, another metaphor would be the plant: strong roots lets the plant reach upward and outward. And of course I’m thrilled to know that you loved my book. Thank you for that!
I love the way you put the dimensions. I use them all, but one thing stood out to me and that is your tracking of devices, when you used them. I’m forever going back through a manuscript, looking for when I used something. I write in Scrivener, and tr to remember to put things in the notes. Being more of a SOTP writer, I don’t always know I’m going to need it later. I’m going to have to be more cognizant and track. What do you use, a spreadsheet or something simpler?
I have to admit that I use the simplest method of all: my own notes. I’m pretty old-fashioned that way! And there is the trusty “search” box in Word, of course. When it strikes me that there is a theme I’ve used before and want to track, I just type the word into the search box of the document and voila! I also keep a running doc where I summarize each chapter into a few sentences, so that helps too. And a lot of the mapping of specific motifs (e.g., hair, as Susan mentions in her comment above) happens after I have a complete draft. I might go back and move the references so they’re spaced more intentionally and effectively. It brings me a lot of freedom to remember that a story consists of pieces that can be moved around :-) Whatever works for you!
LOL That’s exactly what I do. The more I read closely this article, the more I realized we write exactly the same – process-wise, I mean. I really like how you describe it. My 11th novel just released, and I’m still working on that process. I jsut bought your book. Can’t wait to read it.
Hi Barbara! I just read your post on Writer Unboxed: Road, Neighborhood, Sky!
I love the triad.
Your description and explanation make perfect sense, and I swear while I was reading, nodding my head saying this is so great I must make sure I do this–as if it was all new, which it did feel like, but at the very same time, I also had a few DUH moments like OF COURSE writing should be like this! So THANK YOU.
Thanks, Marie! Ideas that resonate often feel both “new” and “yes, of course,” just as you describe—fresh and yet obvious, now that they’re here. I’ve always felt that an outline of story events, while important, doesn’t really capture the writing process as I experience it. I’m so glad to know that the post was meaningful to you!
Barbara, this really resonates with me. I think I work in a similar way. Having three nouns to categorize it is helpful. :)
I’m so happy to know that, Erin! Like you, it helped me to find the right, concise labels for what I was already doing! Thanks so much for writing …
Barbara, thanks for this look into how you write and how you classified it with road, sky, neighborhood. It’s interesting how many working documents you keep. I usually have the wip and wip-notes. And I keep a draft of each major revision.
My stories almost always begin with a character in a pickle, so I’m more of the road/neighborhood kind of gal and definitely enjoy exploring different boroughs :) The sky doesn’t even get into the picture until after I finish a draft, though sometimes I think I’m writing about A, but actually it’s really about B. That’s why I love revising, because I gain clarity.
That’s so interesting, Vijaya! For you, the road and neighborhood come first and more naturally as you create a new story, and then you turn to the sky later—which, if I’ve understood you, often leads to more revision. I’m very much a “sky girl,” which makes sense, since I have a strong analytical nature. So our processes go in a different order, which is so cool! Thank you so much for weighing in!
Your process is remarkably like mine. (I’m a quilter.) Interesting! Nice to have an evocative metaphor to describe them. Maybe I’ll change my Scrivener file titles from plain old boring “Research” and “Extras I Must Incorporate” to Neighborhood and Sky.
How wonderful that the post resonated with you—and offered an evocative way to conceptualize what you’re already doing :-) I do love the quilting image! Having done a little of that, I know that one needs an overall design that brings coherence to individual pieces which might seem to clash or not belong together—but are all needed from the perspective of the whole! Thanks for weighing in!
I definitely shift back and forth between the different modes, and I find when I’ve attempted to limit myself to one at a time in the past, I get stuck. (Dead ends on the road!) Sky certainly speaks to me: while I’m sometimes wary of getting TOO analytical, the truth is that’s a very natural mode for me. It’s worth reminding myself that it’s intuitive as well as analytical, and tends to feed back into the Road and the Neighborhood. I love your examples of how this worked in revision for you.
I love Jan’s thought of labeling the Scrivener file titles to match…I might try that as well.
You make such a great point, Alisha, that “sky” isn’t merely intellectual but also intuitive and insightful—a perspective that makes us ponder what the story is trying to say about being human and why it matters. Neither a grid superimposed on a more organic story, nor a rigid structure that the story has to conform to. Like you, when I feel that I’m starting to get stuck, I know it’s time to shift modes. More often than not, that’s just what I need. Thanks so much for weighing in!
Great metaphor for the writing process, Barbara! You’ll be able to express it perfectly and succinctly in events for your next book. :)
You’re the best, Kathryn! You’ve been such an incredible guide and supporter for me … and I look forward to telling the story (when I talk about piano book) of how you taught me to put on my Big Girl Pants and get back to work when the sky and road were wrong, even though I knew a lot about the neighborhood. Hugs!
Oh, that’s quite a cool way of looking at it!
Glad you like it! See how it works for you!
Barbara, Your three layered work perspectives make perfect sense to me, despite the fact that I’ve never actually completed a novel…. However the concepts call to me as really tangible means to work forward. Thank you for these story views.
I’m so glad this framework resonates with you! Sometimes, if we get stuck on the “road,” switching to one of the other perspectives can be just what’s needed in order to find what to do next, I hope this will help you complete the story you’re working on! Thanks for writing!
Barbara, thank you so much for this post! Like others have said, this is similar to my own process, and having these metaphors helps a lot. Most of all, you’ve helped me see that what’s been holding me up lately is that I need to work some more on the Sky. What a relief! Now I know how to move forward. Thank you!
That is so wonderful! Sometimes we feel stuck but don’t know why, so we keep trying the same thing—for example, trying to force ourselves to continue driving down the road, no matter what—when a different perspective is actually what’s needed in order to get unstuck and see what is needed! I’m so glad the post brought you a new insight! Thank you for writing :-)
Good morning,
It’s always so interesting to learn how other writers approach the craft. Thank you for sharing this.
I’m always thinking in terms of the “W”, the three act structure for the story and one for each character. But that makes it difficult to track the interactions of the characters and where they fall on the big W. Thanks to your post, I’m going to try approaching it with a roadmap in mind, instead of solitary walks in the valley and mountain climbing.
My take-away from this is that Sky is theme and what the story is really about, road is the plot to get there and neighborhood is the setting – including all those people, places and things that define it.
Thanks for your comments, Ada! I like your takeaway …. only to add that each perspective can be more than that. For example, to me, neighborhood also includes the side-trips into characters’ backstories that don’t appear in the final manuscript but are important to know. In my case, it also included everything I learned about O’Keeffe that led to insights that in turn led to plot points … so they are intertwined and mutually illuminating!
As others have said, what perfect and evocative names for these dimensions of storytelling. Thanks for sharing!