Keep Writing, Then Take A Walk
At some point every writer gets self-conscious about their writing. In fact, it’s perfectly normal to question what you’re writing from the outset. And those questions come back up again and again throughout the process. As most every writer and published author will confess, you get so close to words that the natural tendency is to lose any perspective about whether the story is any good or not—just read the acknowledgements page of your favorite author.
Certainly, there are exceptions to this feeling. But the way to overcome the anxiety about your manuscript is to get honest feedback from a capable friend or colleague—someone who will be candid about what’s working and what’s weighing it down. You and your writing will be better for the input from those first readers.
In the absence of that feedback, keep this in mind: trust yourself. Remind yourself of the person who began the first sentence on the first page. Picture that first day sitting down to write, trusting that it was going somewhere. Trust the version of yourself who came back day after day, reread the work, said this is good, and kept writing. Trust the way you approach the page. Get comfortable with your process. Did I say that enough?
While belief in yourself is essential, it doesn’t absolve you of the work necessary to develop the absolute best creative product. Publishing is a business, and it’s an extremely competitive business, so you improve the opportunities for your work to be seen by ensuring the quality is undeniable.
There are as many approaches to writing as there are people, and none are wrong, although some may be better. From my perspective, the best thing I can do is just write. Sit down with the idea and begin. Don’t try to edit or polish as you go. This is just me. It’s the only thing I know to do that works for me to keep the words flowing. It’s not perfect, and it’s not meant to be.
That’s why my completed first draft of ALL SHE HAD was slightly over 100,000 words. Then I had to work to cut it to 86,000 words, and still there was too much exposition and backstory. So I cut another 10,000 words and turned in a manuscript of 76,000 words in my polished draft. Did I cut it to the bone? Close. Did I amp up the pace and the tension? Yes, I think so. Is that word count too tight for domestic fiction? It’s the leanest in the genre.
So what next? When my agent calls me, I have an answer—an answer that maybe was nagging at the back of my mind all this time but wasn’t fully realized until after I hit send and had a moment to breathe. Then it occurred to me that there are breadcrumbs about three of the characters that can be developed into set pieces that will add to their arc and heighten the stakes. Are my characters flat? No. Can we build on their contours and add more complexity to their motivations? Yes, if the editor indicates that’s the right approach. Until then, I wait patiently and keep working on and thinking about my other projects.
Right now I’m thinking about what’s going on in the larger world of writing and writers. I recently listened to a podcast on the writing process. There are many dedicated to the craft, but it seems some of the best commentary about writing, authors, and the publishing industry is featured on pods that aren’t dedicated solely to the writing field.
Rethinking, hosted by Adam Grant, is a podcast that features leaders, creators, and scientists in discussion about challenging conventional wisdom and thinking anew about topics across a range of sectors.
Recently, he interviewed Ann Patchett. I remember her before she became a literary powerhouse when she wrote for Seventeen. During those years, I eagerly awaited my magazine each month, sprinted to the mailbox, and read it cover to cover. Later I recall her essays on writing in The Story of a Happy Marriage.
Even then I pictured myself as a writer, but I wasn’t interested in creative writing. I think I was scared of it, or I didn’t think I could make a living as a novelist. So I studied organizational communication and rhetoric, positioning myself as a business writer. Either way, as a fiction or nonfiction writer, her words ring true about the emotional exposure writers face when they put their work out into the world. Whatever you write, you’re exposed in a visceral way—primarily, I think, because your work will be judged by someone else. And in many cases, that judgment is subjective, at least once you’ve achieved a certain level of skill with language. Not always, but it can feel that way.
In the interview, Patchett talks about the challenges of writing and offers her thoughts on what it means to show up and do the work as a career writer as well as the labor of love that went into launching Parnassus Books, her iconic Nashville bookstore. Patchett has become a champion in the world of writing and writers. She is a fierce advocate for the world of books, meaning, and the impact reading has on bettering us as people.
Getting to know her is worth the time. And I’ll leave you with a few questions to think about when you listen to her remarks.
What do you think about writing something of critical mass, meaning completing a manuscript, and then throwing it away as she advises? How do random encounters influence how we come to writing—as she discusses about her decision to go to Sarah Lawrence—and what we write? What thought have you given to taking care of your body as a writer—the toll of sitting in a flow state, perhaps in poor anatomical positions for hours over the years?
The last question may seem inconsequential, but it is important over the long term. I hope you encounter some thought-provoking ideas in the interview as I did.
Getting up from my desk now, it's time for a break to get up, move, and take a walk.
I’d like to take my next walk with Ann Patchett or Stephen King and chat a while.
What author would you like to join on a walk?
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