Speaking to Jill Coleman, Managing Director of A&C Black, the other day she used a line in regards to a project we are working on that really stuck:"I see this as a refinement of where we think we are going." And this got me to thinking about the writing process.
Starting out as writers, we each have our own quirks and predilections (be that for lists, mind maps, plotting everything out first or diving in headfirst) We each have our own ways in. That said, is there a point when you need to make a commitment? when you must draw lines? And when is that point?
My manuscript originally evolved out of a short story written back in 2005. Prior to that (since 2002) I’d merely been dabbling in several different genres, encountering one particular character over and over, perfecting the craft of the scene, and beginning stories only to leave them dangling on a metaphorical half-finished stairwell somewhere. However in the Spring of '05, I came to share the short story with a writer friend, Robert, and his encouragement fuelled me.
Several years passed by, diligently writing away, until I found myself overwhelmed again. And this is when I took a step back and returned to basics, considering all the ways in which I could arrange my material thus far and plotting an outline. At last I was taking responsibility for a whole, rather than fragments, and I could at last see the wood for the trees. And, while this outline was by no means an exact template the finished result, there is no question in my mind that this activity got me there. This returns me to Jill’s quoted line of earlier, "I see this as a refinement of where we think we are going."
As time has gone by, working closely with writers as a mentoring coach, I found a way of responding to a common need that came up, time and again, during their process, at a juncture when they were looking to regain their focus. The technique suggested, which was a success in that it always managed to galvanise them, was to write a letter from two perspectives – first yours as writer and what you wanted to get out of this experience, and the second from your protagonist and their demands on you as their voice piece. Later, you could always return to this and refine it, but it was always something to cling onto in those dark passages of writer's block, self-doubt and possible rejection.
Now you could either post this letter to a trusted friend (preferably a fellow writer) but that could possibly lead to a sense of a binding contract, and straitjacket you as you feel compelled not to be pulled up on anything. Alternatively, that could serve you well if that’s what you respond to. You could always file it away for your own reference or consider it a pact between you and your characters. The choice, as ever, is yours.
Have you written such a letter? Would you write such a letter? What would it say?
Signing Off,
(Editorial Manager)
Nicola, you mean a letter like this?
Dear Xean,
I know you had once developed an idea for a comedy. Though the Pink Panther book was far ahead on your list of projects, it was still a viable idea, one that you sincerely had hoped to write some day. The greatest moment of your achievement would have been presenting the completed work in person to Blake Edwards, whose great accomplishments you admire. I deeply regret to have informed you of his passing. He lives now in the hearts of those whose work brings the gifts of love and laughter to all. Your work, he will find home. When you write Pink Panther, remember the man who inspired it. Considering its gravity, you should move it to the top ten on your list, perhaps somewhere between H. P. 3 and the roman epic. If you work on it as hard as you have for your upcoming poetry publications, its chances of merit are high. But of course, nothing is for certain unless completed. Until then I advise prudence; never stop learning from Writers’ and Artists’, utilize theirs and all other sources of understanding wisely.
Truly yours,
Xean
12/17/2010
I don't think I'd write myself a letter - it's a lot of effort when I could just as easily talk to myself (and frequently do).
How weird that letters be suggested as a writing tool, though. I was really struggling for a task in my third story (in a series). The main characters needed something difficult and dangerous to do at a time when, in the factual history, there wasn't really much going on. I suddenly realised that delivering a letter was difficult enough in the early 19th century, let alone if the addressee was wandering through enemy-held territory in Portugal. Two problems solved at a stroke - I got my characters back where they needed to be for later stories and gave them an near-impossible mission into the bargain!
I guess letters do have their uses.
Writing a letter to myself would be counterproductive. I’d end up arguing to myself over the format and eventually have to settle it outside, with me losing either way. But I do know why. It’s because I’m so critical of my own writing. What’ll be a superb piece one day is buffalo excrement the next.
I’ve been writing since last September, and have managed to reach about a third of the way in but things would be so much easier and quicker if I didn’t have to work. It gets in the way of everything but obviously it pays the bills.
I’ll finish eventually, I just hope when I do finish that I’m not wielding a Zimmer frame.