Happy New Year, TKZ family! As much as I love the Holiday Season, with all the parties and the outrageous caloric intake, it’s always nice to return to the normal pace–and to return from our winter hiatus.
Here at the West Virginia compound, we got the first snowfall of the winter, which brings a whole different form of excitement. Last year, we got no snowfall to speak of so this storm served as our dog Kimber’s first experience with the stuff. Her first instinct was to bark at it, but once she stepped outside she became possessed, running full speed in circles, taking bites of it and rolling in it. In the picture, she and I are returning home after a romp in the woods.
Let’s talk about writing. More specifically, let’s talk about imagination.
I belong to a healthy few Facebook groups that focus on various elements of creative writing. Mostly, I lurk but I do post occasionally when I think I have something to offer. A few days ago, the subject of outlining came up. The general theme was that without an outline, a writer will get hopelessly lost in the plot and the book will never amount to anything. <Sigh>
Y’all might recall that I do not outline and I bristle at the mention of anything that sounds remotely like a rule that new writers–or old writers for that matter–must follow. I’m particularly intolerant of rules invoked upon newbies by fellow newbies whose body of knowledge and experience comes from a seminar they attended.
Telling a story to the page is the same process as telling a story to another person. Writing a story is a close cousin to the fantasy role play we used to do as kids. (It’s important to note here that thanks to the heroic efforts of my friends and me, every imaginary Nazi who dared to enter our street was quickly dispatched. You’re welcome.) When we played Army, there was always a story to what we were doing. It’s entirely possible that said story closely resembled that week’s episode of the Rat Patrol, but a story is a story. We didn’t outline and we didn’t pass anything through a panel of beta readers. We acted out our plot, never questioned that our guns never ran out of ammunition and accepted on faith that the kill radius of a hurled pine cone was fifty yards or more.
We are the same people we were when we were boys and girls playing with our friends. The imagination is still there. As we grow into our roles as adults, society demands that we tone down the time with imaginary friends. Sadly, we all know people who have embraced adulthood in a way that obliterated the free thinking of childhood and I feel sorry for them. For writers, though–all forms of artists, really–the childlike imagination never goes away. We learn to wrangle it, but we never let it die. We can’t let it die.
What we need to do is stop caring about where our Great Pretend will take us, and just go along for the ride. Let your mind take you where it wants to go and take notes along the way. Maybe it will peter out to a dead end, but so what? You’ll have had the mental adventure, and no one will ever be able to take that from you. For me, an outline is like asking permission to start out on the imagination adventure. It’s like trying to manage the fantasy that is the writing and reading experience.
If you’re stressing about the story you’re trying to write, you’re doing it wrong. I’m not suggesting that the process and craft of writing is not work because it very much is work. But letting the story unfold in your mind–and staying out of its way as it does–is pure joy.
As much as I tried to outline because so many experts said I should, I ended up not writing at all for years because it was so frustrating. And what I did write was flat, boring, and didn’t even sound like me. And it didn’t sell. The only things I ever sold or were published (my newspaper columns) were the things that weren’t outlined. Should have been a hint.
I’ve come to the conclusion that writing is like laundry. There are people that do all their laundry in one day because they want all possibilities available to them and there are people who only do one load a day because anything more than that gives them a headache. Both ways keep you supplied with clothes. Neither way is wrong. It’s just whatever works and in the case of writing, whatever sells.
From one who does a lot of laundry (and not so much writing) — very astute analogy.
If I do laundry, it’s because there’s nothing left to wear. Then I do it all at the same time.
It’s a matter of where you choose to play, John. Your assumption seems to be that outlining is an iron fist strangling the “childlike imagination.” Not so. The play is in seeing a story beginning to unfold in your mind–fun!-–then stopping whenever you want and saying, “Do over!” and playing some more…which lets you meet new friends and invite them to play, too. Then deciding which friends are your favorites and playing the big game with them.
So we agree on the importance of play. But since I write for both fun and dough, I don’t have time to play a lot of games that “peter out to a dead end.” Because it’s also fun getting paid.
We’ve had this discussion many times, and it’s always “fun,” too. But I’m beginning to think it’s largely irrelevant. The real issue is not outline or no outline; it’s structure. If your structure is way off, it frustrates the reader who is, after all, the important part of this enterprise and the one whose discretionary income you wish to tap. So whether you nail the structure by outline or “discovery” it doesn’t really matter. But nail it you must.
It’s cold here in L.A., too. It’s going to be 56 today!
Brrr. I hope you have your mittens!
I am a reformed outliner, and choke hold isn’t far off for me. I think it’s because I write from very close POVs (PsOV?). Until something happens first, I don’t know what happens next. The outline kept me too far away from the story.
I agree that structure is important, but for me, it’s subordinate to the other elements of storytelling in the initial drafts. I find that as the story develops in my head and on the page, the structure evolves organically.
A high of 4 degrees this coming weekend, Jim. I’ll take your 56 any day and twice on Sunday!
🙂
Great picture, John. Your description of Kimber’s reaction to her first snowfall reminds me of the way I approach a new story. Although I admire those who can outline before going out to play, I have to “discover” the story by falling into it, rolling around in it, tasting it, and barking at it. A lot of what I write never makes it to the final version, but that’s okay. The journey makes it all worthwhile.
Have a wonderful winter.
I’ve outlined and I’ve not outlined. On the whole, the books I outline are easier and faster to write. In both I get the joy of discovery.— the best part of writing for me. And JSB is right— story with structure trumps.
Whatever gets you to the finish line most effectively!
Wonderful photo, John. For me, it’s not an either or. My great of pretend includes brainstorming and outlining, as I play with the idea. Jim nailed it for me above–it’s really about structure. Inevitability while writing I discover many details, events, and a few surprises but the structure sets things up for me.
Love the picture, John, and the visual of Kimber playing in the snow. Our German Shepherd does the same, often even pointing her snout up and snapping at the snowflakes. Hilarious to watch a giant dog do that. (And here in our PNW neck of the woods, we’re looking at a high of about 4 degrees this coming weekend…)
My “outline” for a new story is simple: 1)Write the beginning; 2)Write the end.
Once I have those two firmly in my head or on paper, then I go out to play. Yes, I am a novice, but that’s the way I make my stories fun to write. And, if you’re around to watch me, you might just see me snapping at snowflakes.
🙂
Forgot to say, John, that the part about playing as children is spot-on.
My siblings and I, along with about half of the neighborhood kids, often played cowboys and Indians during the summer months until about 10PM. Outside, sneaking around in backyards, with our bows and arrows (made from tree branches and twine), and six guns, we killed each other off nightly.
And, believe it or not, those crooked, knobby arrows flew straight and true; the six guns never misfired; and our parents never checked on us.
Those were the days.
You forgot to title your article.
Plotting is pretty dang individual, but friends who have to produce two or more books a year became outliners because they don’t have time to meander, get lost, rewrite, meander some more, and do it again. Very few can do the Stephen King and John Gilstrap’s Plot is My Co-Pilot method.
Thanks for the catch on the title. I’ll fix that.
I think you nailed the point I am trying to make here. (And for the record, I’ve been pushing out two books a year for the past 3 years. I just signed a contract for a book every 18 months.) There is no one correct way, and if the interwebs are any indicator, that’s a fact that is not getting a lot of attention.
Thanks for the catch on the title. I’ll fix that.
I think you nailed the point I am trying to make here. (And for the record, I’ve been pushing out two books a year for the past 3 years. I just signed a contract for a book every 18 months.) There is no one correct way, and if the interwebs are any indicator, that’s a fact that is not getting a lot of attention.
I look at Jeffrey Deaver who spends eight months outlining and figure my method of gathering ideas, giving my characters their problems, and then writing, unwriting, rewriting as the story gels in my head is faster than than.
Of course, I don’t sell books the way Deaver does, but I don’t think I’d be happy writing if everything was all laid out.
It seems almost impossible to write the kind of books Jeffrey Deaver writes without extensive outlines. The amount of research and detail that goes into his Lincoln Rhymes series, for example, is insane.