Write the way that works for you
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Learn to Trust Your Writing Process
I run across a lot of writers who feel like they’re “doing it wrong” when it comes to how they write a book. Honestly, I used to be the same way.
What do I mean by “writing process”? I consider the writing process to be all the components that make up how a writer eventually ends up with a book. How they write, where they write, what tools they use, etc.
Inevitably, I hear from clients that they’re dissatisfied with the way they plot (or don’t plot), or how much time they have available to write, or how slow they write. And because of this dissatisfaction, they spend much time and effort trying to “fix” their writing process.
Unfortunately, this often leaves writers even more dissatisfied, because now they aren’t writing at all.
Why We’re Dissatisfied
Why is it so difficult to find a writing process and stick to it? Why do we worry so much about how it gets done, rather than reveling in the fact that we got it done? I think writers seek the perfect writing process because they want writing to be easy.
Let’s just put that myth to bed right now. Writing will never be “easy.” There will always be some things that come more easily to you, and some that are more difficult. But we are constantly bombarded with outside forces telling us their version of the “right way” to write.
We read books or take courses (each one very convincing that their method is the secret sauce), but if or when their processes don’t work for us, we feel like failures.
I’m admittedly a software geek. I love new software and always used to buy the latest and greatest as soon as a new version came out. I also love processes, so any time some new and “improved” tool/book/course for writers comes out, I want to learn about it. I want to try it. I probably have tried it.
The problem with that is, with every new tool/book/course I took, I was led to believe that my previous process was wrong or wasn’t good enough. The well-meaning creator of this new thing told me this new and improved method of plotting/writing/editing, etc., would make writing a book easier.
Only it never did. Because I wasn’t paying attention to what worked for me.
Examining Your Current Process
When I was writing novels, this “shiny new object” syndrome was a bit of an issue for me. I’d written several novels, even had a couple of them traditionally published, but I was constantly trying some new method for plotting my books.
Every time I started a new book (and, quite often, in the middle of a book I’d already started), I would try some new plotting method: Scrivener, spreadsheets, index cards, sticky notes on a whiteboard, writing it out by hand, Save the Cat. You name it, I tried it.
All this just distracted me from the writing. It takes time to learn a new process, and I was flitting from one to another, looking for that “magic pill” that was going to suddenly make writing easy.
One day at coffee with my friend Cathy Yardley (book coach and author of Ex Appeal), I expressed my frustration about not gaining any traction with my writing. I told her, “I just want to write every book the same way, so I know exactly what to do when I start a new book.”
In an effort to be helpful, she put on her coaching hat and asked me what my process currently was.
I told her it usually looked like this:
Pick some shiny pretty thing I want to try, like a fascinating plotting board method someone introduced to our writers’ group, which is a thing of sheer beauty.
Throw myself into shiny new thing. My writing will forever be changed! I have a new process.
Decide shiny pretty thing might have too steep of a learning curve because I’m having a hard time. Not giving up though. Must make it work!
Two weeks later, stare at the barely started book plot. Frustration builds at not being able to make this new process work.
Jot down a few scene ideas in a Word document so I don’t forget them while waiting for shiny pretty thing to start working for me.
Squint at shiny new process to see if it becomes clearer. Maybe I need to try a different method. Feel like a failure, because other people use this method successfully!
Research other methods/processes for plotting and writing a book easily. Go down a rabbit hole of researching all the things that work for other authors and start to feel bad about my own writing, because, clearly, I just don’t get it.
Make a few more scene notes in Word. These are great scenes…or will be, once I figure out where to put them on the stupid chart/plotting board/notecard pile, etc.
Stare more, squint more. Curse a lot. Feel more and more discouraged, because this book isn’t working. It’s got to be me. It certainly can’t be this wonderful shiny new thing.
Admit defeat. Painstakingly transfer what little data I have from shiny new thing into the Word document, divide it into chapters, then scenes. Notice gaps in threads and start filling in with new scene ideas. Catch the wave and do more plotting in a few days than I’ve done in the last month.
Now that excitement is back, give shiny new thing one more try. Two hours later, kick shiny new thing to curb. I just can’t get it to work.
Throw hands in the air and decide I will never have a process. I’m doomed.
Build rest of book in Word doc, adding scenes as needed, filling in threads, fleshing out the book in detail. Get excited again!
Rejuvenated about book. Decide will try to figure out process with next book.
By the time I was done with this recitation, Cathy was practically rolling on the floor, unable to control her laughter. “So that’s your process!” (I can still, literally, envision her expression and her hand gestures, as she tried to make me finally “get it.”)
“No, it’s not!” I protested. “I don’t have a process.”
“What about the Word doc? Writing out the scenes as they come to you and filling in the blanks, expanding until you have your book outline? That’s your process.”
I shook my head. “No. That’s just what I do when I give up trying to find my process.”
More hysterical laughter. “That’s your process!”
I objected.
Then, of course, because Cathy likes to poke people and make them think (this can be both a blessing and a curse in a friend), she asked me why I was resisting this as my process.
Where’s the Resistance?
Ouch. Clearly, I was resisting what worked for me, what had been successful in the past. But resistance is a painful word, mostly because it means that we’re pushing against something (good or bad), and in doing so, nothing can change.
Steven Pressfield, in The War of Art: Winning the Inner Creative Battle, says: “Resistance will tell you anything to keep you from doing your work. … If you take Resistance at its word, you deserve everything you get. Resistance is always lying and always full of shit.”
The problem with resistance is that it can take something that’s working perfectly well (like outlining in Microsoft Word) and make you begin to doubt it.
Where’s the resistance that’s making you question your writing process? Do you feel you can’t be successful because you don’t have enough time to write or don’t write fast enough? If you’re a pantser—which I’ve recently heard called a “discovery writer”—do you feel like you’ll never be a “real” writer because someone has told you your process has to include plotting?
Remember, what works for someone else might not work for you. We have different brains and different lives, and fighting against what works for you, trying to force yourself into someone else’s brain and life, isn’t likely to work.
Examine your current writing process and ask yourself if there’s any resistance. Maybe even try to figure out where it comes from, so you can push back.
Making Peace with Your Process
Here’s the deal with processes: If you’re writing, your process is working.
If you can write a page a day steadily, you might have a book done faster than someone else who writes ten pages a day but burns out every two weeks and then has to recover for months before starting again. Don’t try to force yourself to write ten pages a day just because So-and-So says that’s the only way to go.
Do you plot on sticky notes stuck to the back of your office door? Do you discover your story as you write? Do you use plotting software (but only some of it, because other parts don’t make sense to you)? Do you only write longhand on graph paper with chartreuse gel pens?
I’m going to reiterate: If you’re writing, it’s working.
I’m not saying you should never try anything new or that you can’t experiment or push yourself once in a while. I’m saying, if something is working for you, stop resisting it!
If you’re still unsure whether you actually have a process working for you, take a few minutes and jot down how you currently write. Really think about it.
When do you write?
Where are you most productive?
What method do you use for plotting, or do you fly by the seat of your pants (loving every minute of the discovery process)?
What tools do you use?
Do you have any rituals that you feel help you write?
Get it down in detail. Work it out like you’re about to teach a workshop to other writers about your “shiny new method” for getting writing done…because if you’re getting writing done with this method, then this is a viable process!
The Spirit of Experimentation
With all that said, feel free to stretch yourself. Give yourself a week or two to experiment with a new process if you want. Experimentation can be a lot of fun and can help your process morph and grow over time. As you find new ways of writing, your skills and creativity should grow.
Processes can change over time. Just remember, as you try something new, that the program, course, method, or process may work really well for some people, but not necessarily be for everyone. If something doesn’t fit the way you work best, the way you think, or your current lifestyle and circumstances, it doesn’t mean something is wrong with you. Chalk it up to an experiment that didn’t work for you and try something different.
I caution you, though, don’t get into the cycle of always experimenting, never writing. That’s why I recommended a time limit. Knowing that you’re giving something an honest try, but with the “out” of returning to your normal way of doing things if it doesn’t catch on fast, can ensure that you don’t get sucked into a rabbit hole of experimentation rather than creation.
Also consider that maybe you can use part of a new process. Or maybe you can adapt it to work for you. For example, if you really dislike the index card method, but you love the questions the creator of the system asked you to answer about your characters, you might add those questions to a spreadsheet…or to a Word document.
Maybe none of it works for you. Instead of beating yourself up, look for what was successful about the process you tried, as well as the process you already have, and build on those successes. Look for ways to make yourself successful, rather than tearing yourself down for what didn’t work for you.
As you find processes that aren’t your thing, think twice before bad-mouthing a system, process, or instructor that didn’t work for you. It may be working for hundreds or thousands of other writers. Meaning it’s not a problem with the system…it’s that the person trying to use the system isn’t the right person for that system.
Finally, remember that processes can change over time. As our lives change, so may our processes for getting writing done. So periodically review your writing process, tweak it if necessary, celebrate your wins, and learn from what doesn’t work.
BTW, this article was outlined and written in a Microsoft Word document…and I’m totally okay with that process.
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