Writing Is Work

What is your writing process?

The first thing is, you’ve got something to say. It starts with an idea you want to express, or a question you want to answer.

But that’s only the beginning.

The hard part is not expressing ideas or answering questions. Or even having something to say. Anyone can fill a blank page with words. Just transcribe your train of thought, it never stops.

The hard part is putting words on paper in such a way that the reader understands the idea you want to express, in such a way that the reader understands the question you want to answer (and your answer). The hard part is doing whatever it takes to make the reader see what you want them to see, and keep reading.

You could also aspire to entertainment only, in which case you may not have anything specific to say, or even a question to answer. Rather, it’s enough to have the reader laugh or cry or scream. But the challenge is very nearly the same, namely, How do you put words on paper in such a way that the reader feels delightfully frightened or moved to tears? What arrangement of words will make the reader laugh out loud? So, again, you start with the belief that you have something scary to say, or something funny to say, or at least something interesting to say.

So how do you do it?

Your audience

You’re writing your story (or screenplay, or poem, or scientific paper, or haiku) for a specific audience, for people you think would be interested in hearing what you have to say, or for people who you think would like to hear your answer to the question you think is interesting.

It’s easy to imagine that your writing is so fascinating that it’s for everyone. But that’s not really ever the case. Not everyone wants to read a mystery, or a horror story, or a romance novel, or a scientific treatise on nuclear physics, or speculations on how many angels can dance on the head of a pin.

You could be writing only for yourself, or writing an informal family history intended only for the grand-kids. In that case the success criteria is much lower, because only a few will ever read what you write. And they’ll read it even if it’s not good, even if it’s painful to read. Which is to say, they’ll read it once – because they feel obligated, because they have to.

Regardless, understanding your intended audience is important in order to understand what arrangement of words will best focus your reader’s attention.

As is true with most of what we say, a lot depends upon context.

Context

Who is your audience? What story do you want to tell? How do you want to say it?

We talked above about your audience and what story you want to tell. Context has to do with framework within which you tell your story.

If you’re writing a novel, you’ll probably want to follow certain genre guidelines, because that’s what readers expect. Horror stores are supposed to be scary. Comedies are supposed to be funny.

If you’re writing a scientific article, that’s no place for off-color jokes. If you’re writing a sonnet, you’re writer’s canvas consists of fourteen lines with a rhyming scheme, in English typically having ten syllables per line.

Your story should be told in a way that’s appropriate to the context. Both in terms of the story itself (is it a Western, or a drama, or a comedy?), and in terms of the medium. Some stories are better suited to the written word, some to moving pictures.

However, regardless of the context, we always come back to the realization that the only thing that matters is the readers reaction. If the reader doesn’t care enough to turn to the next page (to find out what happens next), then the only one who will ever know what you’ve written is you.

Structure

One’s audience and the context inform the structure to be used.

Asking, “What arrangement of words will best focus your reader’s attention?” is an important question, but it’s only one of the layers of abstraction that must be tamed.

It may sound silly, but it’s like asking “What arrangement of boards will result in the best wooden table?”

Well, are you making a big table or a small table? Is the tabletop going to be round, or square, or hexagonal? Is it a pedestal table or will it have multiple legs?

The boards are of course required to make the table (in the same way that the words are required to make your story), but even more important is the design, or plan, for the table.

We design the table, cut the wood, assemble the pieces, sand it, varnish it, and then polish it.

It’s easy to get distracted by the wood, and maybe even with premature varnishing and polishing, but none of that matters if the design is bad – or worse, non-existent. An ugly looking table can still be functional, but no one is going to use a beautifully polished table that tips over when you set a bowl of fruit on it.

There is a time for the hammer, and a time for sandpaper. Both tools shape the wood into a table, but they are employed at different times and for different purposes.

Likewise there is a time for syntax and word selection (the varnish and polish), and a time for figuring out your story’s structure (the design of it).

The principles of good (i.e., successful) storytelling

There are many books on writing that talk about the need for a beginning, a middle, and an end; the need for an inciting incident, a theme, a concept, and so on.

In his book, “Nobody Wants to Read Your Sh*t: Why That Is And What You Can Do About It”¹, Steven Pressfield lays out his principles of storytelling:

1. Every story must have a concept. It must put a unique and original spin, twist or framing device upon the material.

2. Every story must be about something. It must have a theme.

3. Every story must have a beginning, a middle, and an end.

4. Every story must have a hero.

5. Every story must have a villain.

6. Every story must start with an Inciting Incident, embedded within which is the story’s climax.

7. Every story must escalate through Act Two in terms of energy, stakes, complication and significance/meaning as it progresses.

8. Every story must build to a climax centered around a clash between the hero and the villain that pays off everything that came before and that pays it off on-theme.

That’s the craft of writing, of storytelling. You must learn your craft. Almost any technique will do, so long as you do it. Some techniques (like the principles mentioned above) are known to work well.

The actual work

So you’re learning your craft. It takes a while.

Learning your craft is a necessary requirement but not sufficient requirement for writing your book, or screenplay, or play, or poem. You must also do the work.

Doing the work means sitting down in front of your computer, or sitting down in a comfy chair with pen and paper, and writing. Actually writing.

At first it seems like the writing is the most important part. It is and it isn’t.

It isn’t the most important part in the sense that, as mentioned above, anyone can fill a blank page with words; the hard part is filling a blank page with words that others want to read.

But the physical act of writing is the most important part in the sense that if your words never make it onto the page, then your story is worthless because it doesn’t exist. You may know how brilliant you are, but others certainly won’t.

Your writing schedule

What is your writing schedule? Most wannabe writers don’t have a schedule, which is why they’re wannabe writers.

Do you get up early everyday and write for an hour? Do you carve out time on the weekends? If not, then when do you write?

You must have a writing schedule.

In the same way that you go to work, even when you don’t want to (because it’s your job), you must set time aside to do your writing work, and then do it, even when you don’t want to.

If you can’t write full-time, that’s fine. It means your writing is your second job. It’s a small business owned and run by you, a business that cranks out interesting stories. How well is your business run? Does your one employee (i.e., you) show up to work only sometimes? If so, then fire that son of a bitch. You can’t work with people like that.

And if you can’t fire him, or get him to do his job, then acknowledge reality and stop lying to yourself. 90% of small businesses fail within the first year. You are not a writer, you are a statistic.

In closing, we should all admit that advice like this is easy to give but difficult to follow. Few will do so.

Long story short: writing is work. You must learn the craft, figure out a process that works for you, and then do it.