Tag Archives: Writing Process

Current Project & Weekend Inspiration

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I spent the last week giving my New Project serious consideration. For me, this usually means playing out a variety of scenes in my head, honing character traits, and tooling around with setting. I typically jot down notes about ideas, but lately I’ve been trying to keep project notes contained in single spiral-bound notebooks (as opposed to scattered around my home on bits of envelopes, napkins, and squeezed into the white margins of magazine subscription cards, which always seem to be plentiful and available when I need paper).

This time, I’m going one step further: Instead of just writing down concepts, I’m also keeping a journal of what I’ve watched or read or seen that has sparked an idea related to my project. For example: I watched 1/2 of Naked Lunch on DVD (which I previously saw in the theatre with my first husband), and Micmacs (or Micmacs à tire-larigot, the original French title, which my current husband delightfully translated for me) on one of the movie channels (which we watched not once, but 1 1/2 times).

Anyway, I’m not sure if my new journal obsession will enrich the final product, but it’s been important to me for reasons I can’t quite explain.

One of the biggest bursts of inspiration I got this week came from reading a new quarterly magazine called Lucky Peach. It’s from Chef David Chang and McSweeney’s, for those of you who can attach recognition to either of these names. For those who can’t, it’s basically beautifully designed food writing—both pretentious and down-to-earth at the same time, with breakdowns of the differences between a 62 and 63 degree egg, and Harold McGee (food science hero) explaining the fallacy of MSG headaches, and the chronicle of a drunken (yet utterly brilliant) conversation between Chang, Wylie Dufresne, and Tony Bourdain. Because I’ve been profoundly stressed-out lately, I took an Atarax and lounged in a long, hot bath while reading this magazine. After one-too-many Kindle reads, it was nice to touch paper again. I devoured the entire magazine with stars in my eyes—and a new-found yearning to make my own ramen noodles at home—and will likely read parts of it more carefully later. Just plain wonderful.

Oh, and for the record, I included the magazine reading in my project journal. I am inspired to write something . . . bigger and better than anything I’ve done in the past. I might fail; I often do. But that’s what art is all about: risking failure. And if there’s one thing I do well, it’s risk. At the expense of my sanity, emotional well-being, and financial security. God only knows why, but it’s a character quality/flaw of which I’m (foolishly) proud.

Off-subject P.S.: If you’re interested in winning a copy of KINDLING, you can comment on my Devil-at-the-Crossroads story, which features Cady and Lon in another time period/setting.

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Plotting: an evangelical lesson

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Plotting or pantsing? Ah, the classic debate among writers.

Pansters, people who write by “flying into the mist” (a.k.a by the seat of their pants) claim that real writers don’t plot; it spoils the fun. Why even do it at all if you already know every word you’re going to write? Besides, plotters are just control freaks with an organization fetish.

On the other hand, folks who plot say that pantsers write themselves into corners. That their lack of planning ends up costing them re-writes down the road. Pantsing is sloppy; the thrill of making it up as you go along is just a selfish indulgence—an insult to those who take the time and care to plan.

As someone who started out pantsing and switched to plotting, I’m here to tell you that plotting has saved my life. The peace of mind it’s provided is…priceless. No longer do I work in chaos. Everything has a place, and there’s no struggle with plot holes or dead ends. Don’t believe me? Here are some photos to prove my points…

First, here is my office after I became a plotter. Cleanliness is next to godliness…

Color-coordinated sticky notes make for controlled plotting…

The color-coordinated stickies are then converted to a neatly typed outline…

Once the outline’s done, that’s it. The book practically writes itself. I never have to go back and make changes to my original perfect plotting. So what’s this big pile of messy notes, you ask? Oh, it might look disorganized to the untrained eye, but it’s, uh, well…


When you’re a plotter, there’s no more staring at the computer screen, wondering what to write next. No struggling with writer’s block or unforeseen plot snags. No distractions…


And just a few short weeks later, the book is complete, exactly how I planned it. And how’s this for something unexpectedly extra: remember that perfect outline a few photos up? Well, a synopsis is now a snap because I haven’t changed a thing since I typed it up when I started. Wasn’t that easy?

So, there you have it. Clearly, plotting is the only way to write. I hope all you pantsers out there have now seen the light, and that I’ve converted you to a better way of writing. Good luck, and God bless.

XOXO,

Jenn

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Patience & Writing is like Chocolate & Peanut Butter.

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I’m impatient by nature. Before my husband shuts off the car ignition, I’m already out the door, headed across the parking lot. If I’m adjusting a recipe, I don’t do the math—I just guess and throw it in. If there are several long lines at the grocery store, I’ll jump from line to line like it’s an Olympic competition. If the lines are too long, I’ll ditch my buggy and leave the store.

Unlike Harley riders, I don’t enjoy the journey. It’s the thrill of the kill that I live for. The finish line. Win at all costs.

Lack of patience has its rewards. I’ve never had to ask for deadline extensions at any job; if you give me and someone else a task, I’ll finish it first. My email box is eternally clean because I can’t stand procrastination. And with regards to my writing, lack of patience drives me to finish a book. I will ignore sleep, household chores, and meaningful human interaction at all costs. The book will consume my every breathing moment until I’ve hit the final word. That’s how I wrote five manuscripts last year. I’m a machine.

However, the morning after is a killer. In my manic drive for completion, I’ve settled for pedestrian plot lines that weren’t always as dynamic as they could’ve been…neglected to flesh out characters to their full potential…dismissed technique and style. I’ve also rushed to query projects that should have gone through multiple drafts, only because they were burning a hole in my pocket and I wouldn’t rest until they were out of my hands.

This time, dammit, I’ve learned my lesson—no, really! My current project is too good to be squandered to my lack of patience. It has to be right. So I won’t complete it in two months like my other projects. And I did weeks of research before starting instead of days (and continue to research daily). I studiously read several books a week and made copious notes on what I’d learned about writing.

I also immersed myself in publishing news and devoured writing advice. Previously, I’d been following the advice of a couple of authors who promoted seat-of-your-pants plotting and strict daily word counts, favoring quantity over quality. Guess what: when I actually sat down and read those authors’ books, I was crushed. The writing was so bad; the plotting was terrible. Certainly there are plenty of fine genre writers who follow those methods and shine, but maybe they just aren’t for me. Frustrated, I began branching out and sought other advice from authors whose work I respected. Instead of pantsing, I wrote a full outline and stuck to it. 40,000 words into the manuscript, I took a step back and re-evaluated the world building. Once I’d struck on exactly what was wrong, it took me well over a week to revise the manuscript. (After bragging to my husband, “I’ll bust this out in one night.”)

The whole revision process set me back several weeks, an impatient writer’s worst nightmare. But you know what? It was worth it. I’m thoroughly confident about my current project, and so pleased with the results.

For a writer, patience isn’t a virtue, it’s a damn necessity. It can be learned and mastered, just like anything else. Except bowling and whistling…no amount of patience can teach me those skills.

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