Writing: November 2008 Archives

In the next few hours I plan to start work on my first novel. I haven't attempted to write a novel for a while -- maybe six months or a year. At least, I quit working on the book after an unpleasant experience in a community group. I won't belabor the point; I'll sum it up by saying, rather than look over my fiction with an eye for helping, I was ridiculed, embarrassed, and insulted. Partly with the aim of improving my writing, I think, but also with a hint of genuine resentment.

That's in the past now and it doesn't bother me. No sense in whining about being treated unfairly. The now is a good time; so I've decided to take today (except for the class I teach) and write as much as I can for as long as I can. Wish me luck.

The narrative is a mystery and a story about families, cultures, the past, the future, and San Francisco. I've been working hard to reconstruct the city based on literary traditions (adding a little something of my own; a personal twist). Now, since this is the beginning, I'd like to share with you three possible epigraphs, all of which work, in their way, to frame the themes of the novel. The second epigraph, I'm sure, will be this: "Russians have always made good policemen," from Paul Klebnikov's The Godfather of the Kremlin.

Please, if you have a moment, post a comment on my blog, and tell me which Arthur Conan Doyle epigraph you prefer. I have selected these three by hand from my favorite Sherlock Holmes adventures.

"You have heard me remark that the strangest and most unique things are very often connected not with the larger but with the smaller crimes, and occasionally, indeed, where there is room for doubt whether any positive crime has been committed."

Arthur Conan Doyle, The Adventure of the Red-Headed League

"I have found it is usually in unimportant matters that there is a field for the observation, and for the quick analysis of cause and effect which gives the charm to an investigation. The larger crimes are apt to be the simpler, for the bigger the crime is, the more obvious, as a rule, is the motive."

Arthur Conan Doyle, A Case of Identity

" 'No, no. No crime,' said Sherlock Holmes, laughing. 'Only one of those whimsical little incidents which will happen when you have four million human beings all jostling each other within the space of a few square miles. Amid the action and reaction of so dense a swarm of humanity, every possible combination of events may take place, and many a little problem will be presented which may be striking and bizarre without being criminal.' "

Arthur Conan Doyle, The Adventure of the Blue Carbuncle

Research is important to writing. Not just checking Wikipedia, of course, because the information on Wikipedia is wrong (any moron can edit it). Often a Google Search is a good place to start. But right now I'm talking about true research: Going places, meeting people, reading books libraries forgot existed. Yesterday, while researching my novel, I found several books in the stacks, which provided me with writing about the city of San Francisco. Believe me, I don't want to read all these books. But of course I will, with a smile on my face, and I'll be glad I did.

I want to say, Let's call this research, but since the Wikipedia Era is upon us, let's call it Deep Research instead. This is the same reason I say Rewriting or Redrafting instead of Revising: Too many people think revising means checking for misplaced commas. So we'll use the term deep research to mean "getting your hands dirty," or, for the brevity-inclined, for experience (also known, in the writings of Rollo May, as encounter).

Here's another example: Right now I'm working on an article for Signature. I bravely took the job because it offers me a chance to stuff my face with good food. I need to revisit my favorite eateries for a start, in person, and "be someone on whom nothing is lost," as Henry James said.

Everyone knows people, culture, language, and food are closely connected. This article requires more research, again, than just talking to my friends and saying, "Hey, friend, what cool local restaurant do you recommend I promote shamelessly?"

For personal experiences, try to be mindful while you're experiencing something. Writing can come later. You don't want to be jotting things down in a notebook while you're researching in person. You'll miss something. You probably want to write immediately afterward, instead, so you don't forget anything important. Or, if you're just reading a book, then it's all right to take notes.

In my own writing, I'm in the process of finding out, tracking down, and personally tasting. So remember, writing is hard work. Don't slack on the research.

Writers sit down every day and, even though their minds might be blank, they summon people, actions, settings, and stories to life. Professional writers, I mean. And it's a common mistake aspiring authors make, saying, "I need to enroll in a workshop class at the university so I have a deadline that will make me write." I used to say the same thing, I admit. But I've come to believe that writers must make time in their schedules and set deadlines for themselves. Intrinsic motivation is important. Authors who wait for inspiration, or for a particularly interesting idea to strike them -- well, let's be honest: Those writers don't get much written.

Part of the reason is that writers are naturally interested people. They are curious about others. About the world they live in. Writers always have an idea for some story or poem or article, even those who never write it down. The difference between a writer with a block and a writer getting work done is discipline. Sitting down to write, day after day, with no concrete direction, a writer may get discouraged. Better not to write at all, she thinks. I should spend my time reading articles on the Internet, or a new book, or sorting out the problems of my husband's finances. Maybe I'll just read etymologies in the Oxford English Dictionary.

Whatever the distraction, it's a temptation best avoided if you want to be a writer (at least for a few hours every day). The impulse to give up when lacking a direction is strong, but it can be overcome. Just sit down and type something. Type something, anything. Because writing is, more than anything, a habit. It may be an art, or a craft, but it is (above all else) putting words in order and making sense out of them. That's all. And that's something you can do every day for three to five hours.

If you don't know what to write about, take a deep breath: I promise, deep down, you do know. What interests you? What kind of people? What aspects of culture, history, or society?

If you still can't think of anything, pick an exercise. Writing exercises can sometimes help just by getting the fingers moving across a keyboard. I recommend John Gardner's suggestions from The Art of Fiction or (although I haven't read it yet) Brian Kiteley's The 3 A.M. Epiphany. You could also try the very well-reviewed Bonnie Neubauer book called The Write Brain. The important thing is that you keep writing. Keep the habit alive.

Because, like any habit concerned with experience and talent, writing needs to keep moving. If it stops moving, it dies. That may not happen overnight but it does happen eventually. A writer is only as good as the number of words he or she has written. As long as you're writing, then you're getting better. So, if you're still reading, close the Internet browser, open up a blank text file, and write something.