One man's process, is another's... whatever...

A Sudden Immersion:

What passes for my writing process

Writing has always, for me, consisted of leaping free from mental restrictions, then resting… allowing them to settle in again, then repeating the attempt. It’s a fitful, fretful occupation that sometimes actually reaches a goal I’ve intended. Most times however, the original goal can get so obscured by false starts and side-jaunts, that when the end is finally reached, it doesn’t seem to be the place I had in mind at all.

The way the tendrils and threads of every story twist around the players can also get confusing. It’s like looking at a section of braided rope under magnification. The patterns become so interesting with the repetition of numbers passing over and under, that one might forget that at its heart, it’s just a piece of rope. Its utility defines it, not really how it was constructed (unless you’re a sailor, then it gets interesting…). The story is the rope that connects us with the characters and with the place they inhabit. It also leads us along. As a writer, I’ve often found my grip slipping and often it takes a different reader to suggest I hang on tighter.  That’s been a recurring part of my own ongoing education. Still, no matter how much I try to concentrate upon a plot, the surroundings and setting can easily pull me away. Off I go, into a realm of new research, gazing at images, reading historic accounts, letters, news clippings…

Writing fiction has always come with a nicely defined, organized set of easily structural tools. These tools can change from time to time, but the basic uses remain. Of course, in my impaired judgment, I often would rather just stumble along, seeking immersion into the world still locked away in my mind through other means. If I stop to outline, for example, it usually happens after the first or even second draft has been completed. In this way, crafting a story seems to take me longer than it would if I brought a map along. I blame it on my need to immerse myself in the setting.

Unless I can describe a setting I’m writing about in enough detail, or fill in enough sensory suggestion to create it complete in my mind, I’m unable to make the story work. Many of my short stories especially, lie there incomplete because my involvement wasn’t really satisfying. A big component of that seems to be my need to entertain myself along the way with an immersion into the place I’m trying to write about.

A sense of place is a complicated thing, but those writers who have achieved that in their work, even if only temporarily, have attained something of rare value. Through their choice of certain words they find triggers that can put a reader into a different existence with a new set of experiences. I’ve read other writers, (most recently novelist Michela O’Brien in an interview with author Nik Morton) write about how for her, the setting is another character to be worked into the story. I feel exactly the same way with my own work. It’s not the easiest way to get a story out there, but it feels more complete, at least to me, when the last sentence is on the page. If I can create a sense of place in my fiction, my readers can hold that with them, too. Long after the book has been laid down. When it works, it is magical.

When we create our characters, we have ideas of what difficulties they have to deal with. We also need a sense of their inner character and any special abilities they bring into play. These attributes are the way our readers make the connections necessary to find them compelling, and I believe that the setting is another equal partner in the construction process. The place makes the character, or at least it influences their reactions and behavior.  It gives substance to the intricacies of plot and actions taken. It is the substance underlying everything a story has to say.

Of course, I know that other writers approach their work differently. We’re each unique, but we also share our humanity and a common vocation. There are probably other writers who like to jump right in, as I do, but there are some who use a more thoughtful technique. A more directed process that yields more expected results. My own writing process is one that I can’t really define completely until it is finished, as it changes with each project. At the point of completion, one of the biggest reasons I write at all is the occasional moment when, after jumping in and thrashing around, I find I’m left with something of value. Something unexpected, even useful. It makes me feel like an eight-year-old kid winning a blue ribbon.