Skip to main content

No Write Way to Right

So, I've been thinking about how writers write.  A colleague who just published his first novel said that he planned it out in detail.  Each chapter was driven by what would have to happen in the next chapter to reach his final resolution.  The final result was a fun read.

Some famous writers, I've been told, write by the seat of their metaphorical pants.  They sit down and begin to write with a vague idea of where the story should go.  They, like many of us, discover their characters have minds of their own.  Hopes, dreams, and plans that conflict with those of the author.

I often write in snippets.  Great phrases come to me and I think, "that would make a good story."  I write them down.  A notebook is never more than a few inches from me at all times.  I used to have a waterproof note board in the shower.  Some of the best ideas come when I'm driving.

When I can catch these snippets, I write them down.  My digital file, when I have time to update it, is over forty pages long.  It's filled with ideas—concepts and dreams that I want to write someday.  Someday.

Like many struggling writers, I have a time-consuming job.  I spend every spare minute writing, and yet the rejection letters I receive back seem so cold.  As if to say, "you've wasted our time."  The implication being, "and yours."  I can't help it, I'm a writer.

My stories don't fall into easy genre classifications, and I suspect that makes editors nervous.  They are extensions of my mind.  There's no write way to right.  My snippet-story method isn't efficient, but still I have some fifty stories sitting on my laptop right now than only some disgruntled editor and I have ever seen.

How do writers write?  For this writer it involves one simple think: being conscious.  When not distracted by life, I'm writing.  It may come out piecemeal, but then again, so does life itself.  Write on.


Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Dusty

  My, this thing is dusty.   My fans—hi, Mom!—perhaps believe me to have perished in the pandemic.   No, it was nonfiction’s fault. Since the pandemic began I’ve had two nonfiction books published and have written a third.   With a nine-to-five job something’s got to give.   Unfortunately it’s been fiction. Well, the groundhog didn’t see his shadow yesterday, so it must be safe to come out.   I shuffled away the rejection notes and began submitting again.   I’ve got a backlog of weird stories and maybe some new publishers have emerged? The thing is, don’t you just hate it when you’re in the mood to submit and some lit journal has its window for submissions firmly shut?   My last story, “ The Hput, ” was published about three years ago.   Oh, I’ve submitted since then, but with no traction.   Well, it is winter. I’ve got a lot of stories lined up.   I’ve been sending them out again, dreaming of making a dime at what I love doing best.   When you’ve been writing for half a century, you l

Neglectful Parents

If I was a parent I’d be accused of neglect.   I have to say 2017 was the least published year of recent memory.   Not that I’ve been neglecting my fiction, but I had a non-fiction book accepted and I work full-time and commute to that job—you get the picture. I’ve also had a personal epiphany.   If you can write, you should get paid for it.   I know a publicist (not my own; I don’t have one) and she says she won’t let her authors even write an op-ed if they don’t get paid.   I guess I’d never get published then. My Medusa novel had a flicker of hope for a few moments.   A publisher actually wrote back asking for the rest of the manuscript.   That’s never happened before.   Then the editor disappeared.   Even called me by the wrong pseudonym.   I’ve gotta wonder about that because the second half of the novel’s even better than the first. While looking for an agent for my non-fiction (couldn’t find one of those either) I came across several who said they liked quirky ficti

Too Much Writing?

  Has this ever happened to you?   Have you written a story that you’ve completely forgot?   Not only completely forgotten, but made unfindable?   I play games with my stories and sometimes the joke’s on me. Okay, I suffer from graphomania.   I write constantly.   I do try to keep organized—I use a spreadsheet that has all my submissions on it.   It has rejection/acceptance dates (mostly rejection).   Lots of information. I decided to list on it every story, whether finished or in process.   There are far too many (mostly in process).   When I finish a story I often submit it.   If I get burned, I’m shy about resubmitting.   I often rewrite at this stage.   Then, when I feel brave enough, I try again. The spreadsheet is color-coded.   There, in the color that indicates finished and ready to submit is a story cryptically titled “The Password.”   I don’t remember this story.   I can’t recall what it was about or why I thought it was ready to publish. Looking through my electronic files,