Driving Through the Fog
By Liz Michalski | May 26, 2023 |
Cuddesdon road, early morning mist by Christian Guthier
“…And sometimes you come out of the fog into clarity, and you can see just what you’re doing and where you’re going, and you couldn’t see or know any of that five minutes before.
And that’s magic.”
― Neil Gaiman
Do you know what you are doing when you’re writing?
I’m not talking about plotting versus pantsing. I’m talking about the deep, core knowledge that speaks to what your book is truly about.
Because I’ll tell you, most times I have no clue. My first book was for all intents and purposes a ghostly love story, but after the first draft was completed I realized (thanks to an astute friend’s comment) that it was REALLY a love letter to a place I was wrestling with leaving. I wrote my whole second book thinking it was about Peter Pan, when in actuality (as another friend pointed out) it was really about motherhood and the feelings I was experiencing as my kids left for college.
Yet at the same time clearly some part of my brain — my subconscious, my muse, my higher being, call it what you will — knew EXACTLY what I was grappling with, because it sprinkled enough clues throughout my writing that these deeper themes — leaving a beloved place, motherhood — are evident. And once I was aware of them, I could refine them and make them deeper, which made my overall story so much richer.
As I’ve gotten further along on my writing journey, I’ve tried to deliberately tap into this “hidden” part of my brain, rather than wait for it to work on its own. Occasionally what I come up with makes no sense in the moment, but later will prove to be an invaluable plot twist or character development that surprises even me. And the ideas that don’t work are still helpful because they compel me to look at my story from a different angle.
So how can you harness this “smarter” part of your mind? There are a couple of tricks I’ve found over the years that help:
Create blank space. Did you ever write a secret message with lemon juice? Remember the excitement you felt as you held a seemingly empty piece of white paper up to a heat source and the letters swam to the surface as if by magic? With all the noise in my day-to-day life, my subconscious can have difficulty making itself heard. But if I can create a blank space, the thoughts and words can swim to the surface where I can catch them.
For me, creating this blank space usually involves challenging exercise, preferably outside. After a tough run or hike the endorphins created help my thoughts become peaceful, and whatever my subconscious is working on can rise to the surface. Almost as good are long walks somewhere soothing, such as an uncrowded beach, where I am completely unplugged. The repetition of the scenery combined with the gentle motion of walking jars deeper thoughts loose. Some of my friends find the same results with a long shower, a bath by candlelight, or meditating in a serene environment.
Use background noise when you write. I”ll put a single song on repeat and play it over and over, so that the words lose meaning, or I’ll use a playlist of classical music or ambient sounds the same way. It blocks out the daily thoughts that prevent me from getting in touch with my deeper writing brain.
Work while you sleep. I use this approach when I’m stuck on something — a plot twist, a character development issue, etc.. Right before I go to bed I will read over my latest draft, and then as I’m lying in the dark trying to sleep I’ll go over it in my head, telling it to myself as if it is a bedtime story, leaving off just at the point where I’m stuck. I’ll do this for several nights in a row. Sometimes I’ll actually dream about the book, and recording that dream gives me insight on where to go next. Other times, I’ll get a flash of inspiration as I’m settling down to write that I swear is due to the work my subconscious has been putting in at night.
Don’t stare at the sun. Finally, when all else fails, I try ignoring whatever plot hole or character flaw is bothering me. Instead I let it percolate somewhere just out of my conscious mind’s reach. By allowing it space, a fresh take or answer often seems to spontaneously pop into view.
Now it’s your turn — how do you tap into your subconscious when writing?
Liz Michalski’s (she/her) second novel, Darling Girl, was published in 2022 by Dutton. Her first novel, Evenfall, was published by Berkley Books (Penguin). Liz has been a reporter, an editor, and a freelance writer. In her previous life, she wrangled with ill-tempered horses and oversized show dogs. These days she’s downsized to one husband, two children and a medium-sized mutt.
Hey Liz — The sleep thing really works! I’ve become much more purposeful about it over the years, with an increasing yield. I guess I’ve discovered most of my themes in hindsight. I’ve always loved the old Joan Didion quote: “I write entirely to find out what I’m thinking, what I’m looking at, what I see and what it means. What I want and what I fear.”
Thanks for sharing. You’ve always been an inspiration for me. Wishing you successful exploration and sweet dreams!
Love that quote, Vaughn. So true for me too.
I love that quote too, Vaughn! And I have tried to become more purposeful as well, although I’ll admit my greatest breakthroughs have come when I haven’t been focusing on any particular bit of work. (Also, that inspiration goes both ways — back at you!)
I love everything about this post, Liz. For a long time I thought that everyone else knew what they were doing but me, and not just where it concerned my writing. I thought everyone had gotten the Life Manual except me – a kind of reverse-arrogance, I’ve come to see. The sleep thing really works!! I did it last night and this morning I can see a little further down the road. I love complete silence (any music distracts me) and also those long walks, or even drives, with no phone. My sister read the fifth (ninth? twentieth?) version of my second book and pointed out that, dragons and the ancient immortal people aside, it was about me and my mother.
I’m still looking for that Life Manual, Susan, so come sit right next to me! Good luck with your dragon/mother book!
That Life Manual?
Rejected by every known agent and publisher.
Always self-published.
With regular revisions.
One copy at a time.
So true, Anna! Something to remember when I go looking for the Big Book of Answers to All of Life’s Questions.
In the words of the philosopher Hozier, “Would things be easier if there was a right way? Honey, there is no right way …”
I love this subject. I’ve used all your methods. Some others that work for me:
-Writing poetry or song lyrics while channeling a character. Subconscious likes to talk in poetry.
-Keeping a Journal for the Novel, writing out the frustrations and the breakthroughs, the decisions and the clues and my feelings about what I’m writing. I end up with insight into where it’s going.
-Looking around for what’s hiding in plain sight. What is it that I’ve been personally struggling with while writing this story? What’s been my source of happiness? These always find their way into what I’m writing.
-Interviewing the characters, in writing, about the novel, the other characters, their motivations, what they want from me, etc.
-Having faith it will all come together when I’m ready. This lets me approach the writing in a positive, excited way, like I’m in the middle of reading a good book.
Thanks so much for the post.
Thank you for the additional methods, Ada – I’ll have to add them to my list! And I love the idea of having faith it will all come together — such a wonderful approach.
Hi Liz. Thanks for sharing your creative methods and debts. I envy you the friends who give you such insights into what you’re writing. You are emphasizing the subconscious as the font of wisdom and inspiration for your fiction. I often wake up with something that I immediately know belongs–a detail, image or phrase that comes in the morning as a gift. I also know how hard it is to at last discover what I’m writing is actually about.
But in my view, a lot of fiction relies less heavily on bathysphere deep dives than on conscious inspiration. I am at work on a story that at least attempts to make use of wit and satire. I also write suspense novels, in which the hard work for me is to move the story quickly forward through multiple points of view. My characters think and have pasts, but the conscious social realm is what’s emphasized. Tom Wolfe made a good case for this emphasis: the carefully observed social realm of the novel, not probings of the psyche. Each approach applies to different objectives and kinds of stories. Thanks again for your post.
I am very lucky to have such insightful friends, Barry. They are one of the best parts of my writing journey and I treasure them. And I agree, conscious inspiration has its place as well. Good luck with your story – my current WIP has multiple POVs and I’m attempting the same hard work.
Barry, thanks for passing along this Wolfe insight: “the carefully observed social realm” of the work, which applies beautifully to my research-based NF WIP as well as to fiction.
Liz, your experience mirrors mine in that it’s only after I’ve written the story that I know what it’s *really* about. lol. I don’t really know how to tap into the subconscious but sleep definitely helps. Problem is that I don’t remember my dreams unless I’m thrashing about and wake up (I still talk and walk in my sleep and disturb my husband). I’ve had entire stories disappear as I come to reality. Oh, those morning pages that Julia Cameron recommends also help. I don’t do them consistently but when I do, I’m able to remember more. You’re so right about creating space to daydream–a bath, solitary walks, a nap. Just being. Thank you!
Oh, I read Robert Olen Butler’s From Where You Dream and really liked his advice on writing from the “white-hot” emotional center. Even though I have strong intuition, my logical/rational sense is difficult to turn off, so I literally have to get out of my own way when I’m drafting and allow myself to write things that might not make sense at the time.
Oh, those missing stories, Vijaya! I’ve been there and it is so frustrating! I’ve also written down dream ‘stories’ in the middle of the night and awakened in the morning to find only garbled nonsense. Capturing them remains a work in progress for me.
I haven’t read that book but will look for it — thank you!
Everything we say and do comes from a place we don’t know, acknowledge or understand. Socrates said that we don’t know ourselves and he was right. Freud put it in more clinical terms. What motivates us is unconscious. What we feel is only what we feel on the surface. Below that are the feelings that we fear and suppress.
So it is with writing. When I’m at the keyboard I don’t need to know what is really behind my need to write this or that particular story. What I do need to do is to open myself to the place where that need is, to feel it without naming it, to flow and feel the river of terror and love running through me, out of my fingers and onto the screen.
Later on I may say, like you Liz, oh *that’s* what I was really writing about. It’s good for bar talk and for my someday biographer (ha) to work out but for me, day to day, it doesn’t matter. What matters is that am human, hurt, hope and have a history that makes me that way. I don’t think about it when I write but it’s there and the more I float in that river the more real and felt the story will be.
Love your post.
“What we feel is only what we feel on the surface.” And there’s so much more below that, isn’t there?
Thanks for reading, Benjamin, and good luck with your writing.
“What I do need to do is to open myself to the place where that need is, to feel it without naming it, to flow and feel the river of terror and love running through me, out of my fingers and onto the screen.”
Love this, Benjamin!
I love the idea of creating a blank space. It seems to me ideas come when I can’t get to writing implements, like in the shower, or driving. Those activities (or lack of activity) create the blank space. That non-linear, subconscious part of me is apparently always working, but it’s voice is crowded out. The Greeks created the idea of inspiration. It means breathing in. You breathe in your muse. It’s as good an explanation as any of where the good stuff comes from.
“t seems to me ideas come when I can’t get to writing implements” – I’ve met people who keep bath crayons in the shower for that very reason! I haven’t done that, but I do keep paper and pencil by the bed, in my bag, and in cabinets around the house, and I’ve used my phone to leave voice memos when nothing else is available. But I agree Bob — I’m most likely to get an idea when I am least prepared to hang on to it. Sometimes I literally get a headache bc I’m trying so hard to remember it.
“So how can you harness this “smarter” part of your mind?”
I just realized you’ve given me the answer to a question I’ve had for over twenty-five years: why the heck does plotting with Dramatica (a screenwriting program) work for me?
Because by the time I’ve gone through the almost incomprehensible prompts in interconnected characters, plot, theme, and what they call ‘genre’, it has dug out and started interweaving with all the pieces of the story I might never have considered – and how they relate to the underlying idea/premise/whatever you want to call the reason for this one – and not some other.
My brain knows – none of these pieces come from the software – but it isn’t until they’re extracted from my brain that they start glomming together because humans make patterns, even when there isn’t one there, and then – there it is! If pieces are missing, the story has holes. If not, the connections are as strong as spider’s silk.
I’m in the process of doing for the third book in a mainstream trilogy what I’ve done twice before for these characters, this story – and I can literally feel my brain hurt as I dig through the bacteria digesting the ideas into fuel for the writing. It takes time and space – and TRUST that I will consider everything relevant and pick what I need.
Thanks, because I’ve been fighting the process – I should have been finished by now – and that’s not how you get everything out. It’s like scouring the little creek bed with the entire snowmelt of an extraordinary winter.
I haven’t heard of that software, Alicia, but it sounds compelling. I’m glad it helps you. And I agree — the process takes what the process takes. I’ve been struggling with feeling like I should be ‘done’ with the process I’m working through for my current WIP too, but at this point I should know better. With respect to Gandolf “An idea is never late, nor is it early, it arrives precisely when it means to.”
Beautiful post, Liz, thank you. Any mention of a muse always reminds me of Liz Gilbert’s book, BIG MAGIC, where the concept of a muse was so convincing, I try to remain open, as if I’m inviting the muse in. The only time I felt a very powerful response to that was when, out of the blue and for the first time in my life, I started writing poetry and wrote about 20 poems in three months before the urge completely left me. One of them was published in the San Diego Writer’s Ink, annual anthology.
I find that taking the dog on long walks, where I must be present to some extent but can let my thoughts wander, is a good time for me to nut things out.
I also have tiny epiphanies when reading a book, whatever the genre, where I can be totally engrossed, but suddenly take note of a turn of phrase, description, dialogue, or even theme, and see how that could apply to what I’m writing. And of course as my latest work is taking shape, I’m starting to realize that it’s not at all the book I thought it was. Everyone’s subconscious must always be working behind the scenes.
Deborah! I love that book and listen to it on audio periodically as a refresher. And wow, 20 poems – the muse must really have been with you! Good luck with your latest project. (And I agree, it’s never the book I think it is when I’m writing.)
My subconscious seems to come through best when I’m actually writing, or just “noodling” (i.e. riffing or improvising) inside my WIP. I’ll be stuck on something, then suddenly, out of the blue, one of the characters will think or say something that sends me in a new direction. Or I’ll be doing some noodling inside my manuscript at the beginning of a scene or at the end of my last day’s work, and an idea will suddenly come to me. My noodling usually consists of writing down a bunch of “what if’s” or possible actions and outcomes. Once I’ve either used or rejected the ideas, I either delete the “noodles” or sometimes save them in a separate document in case I want to refer to them later.
Also, even though I’m writing traditional mysteries, so having my hero solve the mystery in an interesting way is the “why” in my writing, each of my novels seems (almost unintentionally) to develop a theme. Sea to Sky, for example, was father-son relationships. My current WIP is mother-adult child relationships.