This category pertains simply to the writing process, i.e. the act of being a writer and working with one’s material. The producing of new material, the editing of existing material, and the techniques employed in both. As implied by the category title, the insights grouped here relate as much to the headspace which one should have as a writer as to the mechanical process. Writing is a craft and being an author, a job. As such, these extracts pertain to the refinements I
underwent in this regard.
- The writing of these journals feels like a simple, but profoundly impactful tool. Just being forced, as it were, to sit down and catalogue my thoughts, to ‘compost’ them as Paul Mason would say, is having a positive effect. It is drawing together many disparate elements of learning into something cohesive.
- We have been urged to “normalize” writing, to make it a routine rather than a sporadic exercise only spurred on by sudden inspiration. What’s more, to find inspiration in the everyday, see what tales one might extract from mundane scenarios. These adjustments seem essential, as my desire to write still stems mostly from the escapism of magical concepts, and I have yet to establish a solid writing routine. To this point, I have noted the impact of simply carrying a notebook with me. I have been astonished to find how often interesting titbits are paraded in front of one each day, the world giving the prospective author all manner of scenes worth recording. Similarly, the number of random thoughts that occur to one but are quickly forgotten, are now captured for later perusal.
- Free writing is an incredible tool. I have always struggled with writer’s block, and this seems to be the antidote. A writing prompt and a time limit. At once picking a direction and denying my brain the space for cogitation allowed the words to simply flow out from a reservoir I didn’t know I had.
- Recently, I produced a piece which a supervisor felt contained only one “truly good”
paragraph, the rest being apparently too raw and potentially melodramatic. This I think, was a fair assessment, as I received similar feedback on past writings during our recent contact week. A lecturer took his red pen to a 16-line poem of mine, and the 6 lines left were a complete and rather beautiful piece. Another noted that my most recent attempt at horror writing was tending toward purple prose, emphasizing the importance of not re- stating an image lest its impact be lost. It seems that much of my recent work has had a case of first-draft-itis. For every ten lines I write, it seems that only one or two are workable, yet to my eyes, every word is carefully chosen and placed.
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While this confirms the importance of critical feedback (one is inevitably too close to one’s own work to be objective), I have also heard the writing process compared to building a sandcastle, with the initial phases being a great piling up of sand, much of which will be swept aside in later construction. I had been pleased with the rate at which I piled up sand, but have been disheartened to discover just how much sifting is required after the fact. It has however, been interesting to note that during the editing process, it is often one’s very first emanations that are the best and most beautifully crafted. That initial image or turn of phrase from which an entire piece might spring is typically the most authentic, original and interesting in its composition, an insight which my lecturers’
criticism only confirms. It seems then, that one must make such fragments the
cornerstones of one’s stories, or at least be willing to pile up a lot of sand, not imagine that the very first effort will be the best.
- Our recent assignment to write of Eros, of unbridled passion, proved difficult. After several drafts in which I tried to speak of past trysts, only to watch my prose slip into the realm of cheap erotica, I gave up and got angry at a piece of paper. What emerged from those twenty minutes of free writing was a strange tribute to ardor, partly a rejection of writing about it at all, and partly an acknowledgement that it had been special indeed. I got mixed feedback on this one, but most agreed that I’d captured something at least, frustration at some point giving way to an expression of what it felt like to be in love. It seems then, that once the hump of doubt is crested, pouring one’s heart onto paper is still the truest method of producing good writing, “good” in this sense being synonymous with “genuine”. Artifice can arrest progress; if one is unsure how to say something, perhaps it is better to just do away with the frills.
- Several voices have asserted the same sentiment: that self-editing is dangerous. A guest lecturer advised us to decide what our writing goals and dreams are, and then forget about them for the time being. To write for ourselves rather than any imagined audience, lest we stifle the creative process. Similarly, my supervisor has urged me to “shut up and channel” when in the early stages of writing a piece; to be a conduit for whatever piece is coming through me, rather than worry what its nature is, or what it will look like in the end. Write first, edit later!
- Harlan Ellison, in his running editorial commentary on Dangerous Visions, refers to writing as “a holy chore”, and decries the would-be writer who lacks in motivation. As such, I have attempted to make writing exactly that, a daily task that must be done regardless of inclination.
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- We were given a quote by Ursula Le Guinn, asserting that as writers we are “free, the freest person who ever lived. Freedom is what you have bought with your loneliness”.
This crystallized something in me, and had great personal relevance, making it clear that writing would be neither quick nor easy, yet also imparting a sense of purpose. I relish the freedom that being an author grants me, and feel ready for whatever long vigil the mantle demands of me.
My key learnings in this category were that writing is as much the product of routine as
inspiration, habit informing the creative process alongside talent. The writer must be open to the inspirations all around him and ready to record them, as well as to those which bubble up from within. Yet even in the absence of creative gems, the serious author must be able to produce new content, writing being a “holy chore” or lonely vigil rather than an occasional, whimsical
exercise. One must also be able to separate the writing and editing processes, lest self-judgement stifle content generation. Though much of the material which one produces will undoubtedly not be used in final drafts, the writer’s first task is to channel the stories that come through him, and only after to refine them.
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