Not knowing how or why

A morning of starts and stops

of false beginnings

of missteps

trying to find my footing

on a path I can’t see

working through silence

hoping to hear a voice 

deleting more words

crossing out full sentences

beginning again

stopping

starting over

all futile efforts to find

a path leading

somewhere—

but where?

trusting the process

that I’ll find what

I need if I keep writing 

keep my pen moving

across the page

keep collecting words

not yet knowing which I’ll save

and which I’ll discard

waiting for the light to go on

for a path to appear

not knowing how or why

but persisting

through doubts, uncertainty

through not knowing

until the end suddenly appears

and there’s the light at the end of the tunnel—

shimmering, growing brighter—

the beacon I was searching for

there all along

waiting for me to find it

One Writer's Process: Deborah Underwood

Writing is Hard

I wrote a picture book last year. Revised, revised, had some interest, revised, revised, got to a point where it felt better, but now am at a point where to go forward I would need to revise again, and maybe remove some of what I thought the story was about (although exactly what it is about has remained elusive, even to me).

Have you ever had a fallen soufflé story? One where you've messed with it so much you're completely lost and don't even know which way is up anymore? I've set this aside for a bit, but came back to it yesterday and am just as confused and unconvinced. The revision suggestions make good sense, but I'm not sure I feel they're right for me. But I know the story could be stronger, and I want it to be as strong as it can be. Unless I want to just leave it behind and move on, which is another possibility.

I may just do a quick draft to see if the changes feel off once they're incorporated, but I'm dragging my heels even at that. I don't mind editing; I actually like it. But I really don't like looking around and saying, "What even IS this mess? And should I find an escape hatch and go write something totally new?" It's like I've entered some weird magnetic anomaly where the compass is spinning around wildly and can't be trusted.

In contrast, I had to write a synopsis of a recent work yesterday. I love this story. Self-doubt is my constant companion (for most all writers, maybe?), but this story makes me laugh every time I read it. It's funny, I love the voice, and the plot works exactly the way it should. It reads as if it poured from the assured pen of a skilled writer who doesn't question her ability or experience at all.

Being a writer is dancing between these two opposites, and boy, it can mess with your head.

Coffee will help though, right?

Deborah Underwood’s most recent release, Bearplane, illustrated by Sam Wedelich, came out last month, and Walter Had A Best Friend, illustrated by Sergio Ruzzier, is coming out this fall. She’s written for young readers as well as for older readers, including Every Little Letter, The Panda Problem, Interstellar Cinderella, and The New York Times bestsellers The Quiet Book, The Loud Book, and Here Comes the Easter Cat. (And that doesn’t include the 28 nonfiction books that she’s written for kids.) If you’d like to learn more about her and her work, visit her website: https://www.deborahunderwoodbooks.com/index.html

Editors note: Deborah shared these observations on writing with her Facebook followers and kindly granted Wordswimmer permission to reprint her words here. If you’d like to follow her on Facebook, check out her FB page: https://www.facebook.com/deborahunderwood. Thanks, Deborah!

The Essence of the Process

If you read only one book about the writing process this year, I hope you'll consider John McPhee's Draft No. 4: On the Writing Process.

It contains eight essays on the writing process that were previously published in The New Yorker, the magazine where McPhee's work has appeared since 1965, and where you may have read some, or all, of these pieces.

If you have read any of these essays before, I recommend reading them again, since I find McPhee's work so rich that it can easily sustain multiple readings, each time offering up some new jewel that the reader may have missed or overlooked. And if you haven't yet read any of them, you are in for a treat.

You'll discover a man's love of the craft of writing, and a devotion to the process of putting words on paper reminiscent of a religious scribe, a man passionate about language and its usage and the delight that it provides for reveling in life's joys and mysteries.

McPhee believes wholeheartedly in revision as the core of the process. "The difference between a common writer and an improviser on a stage (or any performing artist) is that writing can be revised. Actually, the essence of the process is revision. The adulating portrait of the perfect writer who never blots a line comes Express Mail from fairyland."

If you take away just one nugget of truth from this book, let it be this one: The essence of the process is revision.

One of the things that I love about McPhee's approach to writing, and his willingness to teach writing to others (he's taught students at Princeton University, his alma mater, for years), is his understanding that each writer is cut from different cloth and approaches the problem of getting words on paper differently.

He gives us as examples the different ways his two daughters deal with the process.

"Jenny grew up to write novels, and at this point has published three. She keeps everything close-hauled, says nothing and reveals nothing as she goes along."

But keeping things close-hauled isn't the way his younger daughter Martha goes about the process.

"Her sister Martha, two years younger, has written four novels. Martha calls me up nine times a day to tell me that writing is impossible, that she's not cut out to do it, that she'll never finish what she is working on, et cetera, et cetera, and so forth and so on."

Two writers, two different ways of approaching the process.

Actually, three writers. There's McPhee himself who shares his own approach.

"It is toward the end of the second draft, if I'm lucky," writes McPhee, "when the feeling comes over me that I have something I want to show other people, something that seems to be working and is not going to go away. The feeling is more than welcome, but it is hardly euphoria. It's just a new lease on life, a sense that I'm going to survive until the middle of next month."

There's a wealth of information in Draft No. 4 that will provide sustenance for you as a writer for weeks, if not months and years, whether you write fiction or, like McPhee, nonfiction.

And if you love reading The New Yorker, you'll love learning a bit of what goes on behind its cover and pages since McPhee generously shares stories about his working relationships with editors at the magazine who have nurtured and guided him along the way.

If you're curious about the kind of advice McPhee offers, here's a link to his essay, "Draft No. 4," as it appeared in 2013 in The New Yorker: https://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2013/04/29/draft-no-4 

And here's a link to the book, if you want to take a look: 
https://www.amazon.com/Draft-No-4-Writing-Process/dp/0374142742

And if you're interested in The New York Times' review of the book, click this link:  https://www.nytimes.com/2017/09/13/books/review-draft-no-4-john-mcphee.html

Keep the Pen Moving

Keep the pen moving.

It’s a skill that you need to learn.

When you’re first beginning, it’s hard to keep the pen moving.

You search for the right word, grope for the appropriate image, hunt for the proper tone.

You hesitate, worrying about what a reader might think of your work. 

You fear making a mistake. 

You sit staring at the paper and wait for the story to write itself, but, of course, it won’t write itself.

You may have no idea of where your story is going or what you want to say.

So you think you have nothing to write, no path to follow.

But here’s what you need to remember: each time you set out to write, you carve a new path.

Only the path won’t appear if you are critical or judgmental.

The first thing you need to do is to let go of notions of "good" and "bad."

You need to be willing to write down whatever comes out of your mind and accept it and let go.

  

Without judgment.

Keep the pen moving.

Let words come.

Let words emerge, whatever words they might be, however silly or foolish or ridiculous or mysterious the words may sound.

Over time you'll learn this and then you'll forget it and you'll need to keep re-learning it.

Keep the pen moving.

No pauses.

No stopping to think.

Just keep writing.

Even if all you write is keep writing or don’t stop or this sounds like the ranting of a lunatic, keep writing

What emerges once you let go of your critical censor will surprise you.

You will reach beneath the surface of language and will find a place where words emerge and images and scenes play on the screen of your imagination.

If you keep the pen moving, you will find the words you need.

But only if you learn how to suspend your critical eye and cease judging the words that flow from your pen.

Keep the pen moving.

The Challenge of First Drafts

“The first draft is just you telling yourself the story.” ~ Terry Pratchett

Some writers gripe and groan about the challenges of first drafts, but I’m the kind of writer who loves them.

They’re messy, unmanageable, unpredictable, often impossible, but I love them all the same.

I love the freedom that a first draft offers a writer.

I love that there are no road signs (because there are no roads).

I love how you can go anywhere, explore any direction, choose a point off in the distance, and, if you’ve got the strength and stamina and time to spare, you can make your way there across the swamps and through the dark forests and over the mountains to a place that feels like home, even though you’ve never been there before.

Of course, that feeling of home may be an illusion. After a day or two you may realize that you need to head off in a different direction, head back over the mountains and through the dark forest and back across the swamp.

I love the chance to get lost and to start over and begin again. Isn’t that the point of first drafts? You get to explore the world of your imagination!

But first drafts come with the fine print that most writers forget to read: exploring unknown territory always comes with risks.

Risks like you don’t always know where you’re heading (even with an outline) or why you need to go there.

Risks like writing on impulse, relying on intuition, hoping your sensations are true and your story will emerge as you probe those feelings and sensations more and more deeply.

In first drafts you have to swing your machete through the tall grass and overhanging leaves to carve a new trail because no trail exists yet.

Sometimes you have to crawl on your knees through caves and belly forward through tunnels in total darkness, barely able to breathe, unable to see the world around you, not wanting to think about the spiders or snakes lurking in the dark.

Writing a first draft can feel like swimming at night without any stars or shore lights to guide you, just your own sense of direction, your intuition of where you need to be, your instinct about which way is up, which way is forward, which way leads to the place where your story is waiting for you.

But I love that sense of adventure and the freedom of creating my own path without anyone else to tell me where I should go.

I love not knowing what comes next.

I love putting down words and sentences, not knowing where the words or sentences come from, hoping to discover the next step in the character’s plot.

I love the sight of blank pages, the smell of empty journals that no one else has ever held before, and I love knowing that I’ll spend the next few days or weeks or months filling those pages with words that didn’t exist until, miraculously, they emerged from my pen.

I love first drafts because of the challenges–the opportunities–that they place in front of us.

A first draft is what helps me prove to myself that I’m a writer, that I can write, that I can stumble through this draft.

Will I have a story when I reach the end?

Maybe, maybe not.

There’s no telling in advance what I’ll find in a first draft.

But I know I’ll have something on paper, something to use as a guide when I begin revising the words, an outline of sorts, a general sense of the direction that the story needs to take.

Last week, after months of work, I finished a first draft. It took months of writing and exploring the unknown to come up with thousands of words, hundreds of pages.

I can’t say that I know what I’ve got on those pages. But when I turn to the first page in a few weeks after giving the draft time to simmer, I hope I’ll like what I see there.

If not, I guess I’ll have to begin again. Only then it won’t be a first draft.

It’ll be my second.

For more on first drafts, visit:
http://www.hercircleezine.com/2011/01/04/completing-a-first-draft%E2%80%94the-happy-mess/
http://letthewordsflow.wordpress.com/2011/06/13/dictate-your-story-%E2%80%93-an-unconventional-method-of-completing-a-first-draft/
http://screenplay.lifetips.com/cat/64970/completing-your-first-draft/index.html
http://www.awritergoesonajourney.com/index.php?option=com_content&view=article&id=91:completing-the-first-draft&catid=17:writing-guides&Itemid=179
http://www.larryshallenberger.com/2011/02/01/one-why-finishing-the-1st-draft-of-a-book-doesnt-feel-like-an-accomplishment-anymore/
http://www.ken-follett.com/masterclass/completing.html

Swimming Past First Drafts

I’m reaching the end of a first draft.

That’s not to say that I’m finished with the story. It’s just that I’m coming to the end of my first glimpse of the story.

The first draft gives me an understanding of the landscape, the shape of things to come, so I can keep working to make new discoveries.

At the moment the characters and settings are ghosts, figments of imagination, wisps formed by words hurriedly scrawled before the wisps vanish.

In a first draft, I'm hoping to capture something–anything–before all goes dark and the wisps dissolve.

Going into the second draft, though, I’ll have the chance to slow down and “see” what made its way onto the paper and what didn’t make its way onto the paper.

What do I see on paper and what do I see in my mind’s eye that’s not yet on paper? That’s the question that I’ll ask myself as I begin the story again.

Each draft, I've learned over time, is a chance for me to hear the story anew, to listen for voice, to discover images, scenes, emotions that I never experienced before, not even in the first draft.

I've learned that I can write ten, twenty, or thirty drafts, and each time the story is different.

My perspective will change in the time that it takes to get from one draft to another.

It’s like sitting on the beach staring at the water day after day.

No day is the same.

No view is identical to the the view that came before it.

The light, the wind, the air temperature, the number of people walking the beach or swimming, the number of boats offshore, the hungry seagulls, the pink clouds at sunrise or sunset--all of it changes.

So too does each draft.

Some writers feel that revisions are pure drudgery.

But I’ve come to love the revision process as much as I love the excitement of writing that first draft.

Each successive draft helps me learn more about the hidden world inside my imagination.

And one day, if all goes well (because in writing there are no guarantees), I’ll complete a final draft and find myself with a story that I can share with readers.

For more on making it through first drafts, visit:
http://tonytula.com/the-first-draft/
http://thewritingplace.wordpress.com/2010/10/30/first-drafts-looking-at-the-big-picture/
http://betterwritinghabits.com/forget-these-7-things-for-first-draft-freedom/
http://dianechamberlain.com/blog/2010/02/my-sloppy-first-drafts/
http://writeabetternovel.net/writing-first-draft-forget-looking-good-make-messes/

Beach Talk: First Drafts and Revisions

Spread your blanket under the nearest palm tree, make sure you've got plenty of sunscreen, and join us for a chat on the beach with Carrie Jones, whose first novel, Tips on Having A Gay Ex-Boyfriend (Flux-Llewellyn), was released last month.

Carrie is from Maine, and she's managing to stay cool beneath Florida's tropical sun at the moment with her favorite food... a Fudgsicle... while worrying (in typical Carrie fashion) if her bathing suit looks ok. (If you read her blog, which I do regularly, you know that Carrie worries a lot... and I mean a lot... about stuff like bathing suits and making good first impressions.)

After sharing her thoughts for our chat, Carrie even worried that she had simply babbled, which struck me as just amazing, because, well, nothing could be further from the truth. She is so generous (as you'll see), and I think you'll find her insights into the drafting and revision process enormously helpful. (If you do enjoy her thoughts, please let her know... just to reassure her that you found her thoughts worthwhile.)

Most likely, Carrie was this generous and kind person long before studying in Vermont College's MFA in Writing for Children's program, where writers, regardless of age or awards, share what they've learned about writing with other writers to help bring more stories into the world.

If you happen to stop in Montpelier, VT on a Sunday morning and climb the hill to the Vermont College campus when a residency is in session, you'll likely find a handful of writers gathered in Noble Hall listening to a guest author share insights into his or her writing habits.

There's a kind of magic in such events--a little like entering a room while a magician's divulging his or her secrets--and Carrie, who recalls those magical mornings from her days as a student at VC, was kind enough to take a break from her work in Maine, where the roads are still muddy and the sky still winter gray, to recreate some of that magic for us at Wordswimmer.

So, take another sip of lemonade (or another bite of your Fudgsicle), dip your feet in the warm sand, and join us.

Wordswimmer: How do you begin drafting a story? What sort of things are you looking for... to keep going? How do you know when to discard a draft and move on to something different (or to something that the draft, unsuccessful as it may be, points toward)? And how do you sustain the momentum of a draft... once you're into it?

Carrie Jones: I just start writing. That’s it. I wish I had some amazing secret. Usually, I hear a sentence or see an image, and then – bing! – off I go.

Things that have inspired me to start drafting include:

1) A country music video image that I saw while running on the treadmill and switching channels;

2) An old love note from my high school boyfriend;

3) A random sentence that kept repeating itself in my head while I was taking a shower;

4) A hate crime.

I feel like I should apologize for the randomness of my drafting process, but Andre Gide wrote in Journals, “The most beautiful things are those that madness prompts and reasons write.”

I am an improviser when I write. So I don’t look for things to keep going. I just keep going.

When I was pursuing my MFA at Vermont College, I watched a lot of amazingly talented writers become stuck. They would fixate on a sentence, on a word. They would stress about words not yet written as well as words that already met the page. They would hurl their laptops out of windows, hide their crafts books, cry. A lot of port was passed around during our residencies. There was a reason why.

I didn’t want that to happen to me, so I began to think of drafting as improvisation. This was incredibly freeing.

In her book, Improv Wisdom, Patricia Ryan Madson writes: “Improvisation has nothing to do with wit, glibness or comic ability. A good improviser is someone who is awake, not entirely self-focused, and moved by a desire to do something useful and give something back and who acts on this impulse.”

Improvisers focus on saying “Yes.” In improv, when two characters are doing a scene, both characters have to be positive, to say yes to each other's suggestions. If one guy stands up there and says, "Let's go party." And then the other guy says, "No way." Well... the scene falls on its face and everyone goes home saying they hate improv and the improvers think they suck and everything is just BAD, BAD, BAD.

Writing can be like this, too.

When our characters want to take us to new, unexpected places in the plot, we just have to go with them. If we don't, our story stagnates. We have to be willing to say "yes," to take risks with our characters and our plots and our language.

According to Madson, "Saying 'yes' is an act of courage and optimism; it allows you to share control. It is a way to make your partner happy. Yes expands your world."

That is my terribly long-winded way of explaining that I don’t usually abandon drafts. I say yes to them. I just keep writing.

When I write young adult fiction, I tend to do the Alison McGhee method of writing. What does that mean? It means I just write.

I write the scenes that inspire me. Sometimes they are out of order. Sometimes they aren’t. When I write this way, without worrying about what comes next, it’s quite fun, and I never have issues about writing a certain amount every day. However, it is always terribly skeletal. The story is just the barest of bones. I like that. It makes revising so much more fun.

However, with middle-grade fiction, I am a plodding-along-following-the-story-arch type of writer.

Wordswimmer: Why the different approach for middle-grade fiction?

Carrie Jones: I think I approach middle-grade fiction less spontaneously because it's a harder genre for me. It is much more difficult for me to write in the third-person point-of-view, and I think that there is an authorial tone, a conviction, that is implicit in that point-of-view that makes me shift gears, slow down, and really make sure that the authorial voice is worthy of that kind of power.

Wordswimmer: Back to drafting...

Carrie Jones: I have a difficult time giving up on a draft. I tend to write the entire thing out instead of giving up at page 50 or 80. I also work on multiple pieces at a time. So, if I’m stuck at page 230, I can skip on over to a picture book revision.

It’s some ridiculous Yankee work ethic.

I think I’m so afraid of being unable to finish something that I go as fast as I can towards the finish line. I’m afraid that if I stop, I’ll never start again. I just keep saying yes.

You can go with the swimming metaphor here if you’d like. And the truth is, that’s how I am about swimming (I am not a great swimmer) or kayaking (I am a much, much better kayaker). If I see the goal, I just chug towards it full-steam, even if my arms ache and I’m dehydrated and I’m dizzy... because I don’t actually trust myself to start again if I stop.

It’s pathetic really.

In writing, this means that I write every work day, that I make lists of writing goals for the month and page goals for the day. I keep saying ‘yes.’

Wordswimmer: Once you've got a draft... how do you go about revising it? Do you jump right in or do you let it sit a while? (Do you revise as you produce the draft?) Again, what are you looking for...and how do you sustain yourself over days when it might seem like you've got nothing more than a jumble of words and unconnected scenes?

Carrie Jones: I love revising. I think it’s a great unveiling of the text and it’s hard for me to wait before I jump back into things again. Fortunately, I have a large cache of duct tape and I wrap it around my fingers to keep from typing.

Basically, for the first revision, I wait at least a week before I look at things again. This is hard but necessary. I usually wait a month for the next revision. This is almost always a deeper, more structural revision. The first revision usually consists of me asking questions such as:

1. Why did I make this character obsessed with duct tape? Should I pump it up more?

2. Oh, man, how DO I make this character based on an evil president lovable?

3. Why do I write anyway?

I also revise as I produce for young adults.

Wordswimmer: But not for other types of writing?

Carrie Jones: It sounds strange, but it's almost as if I'm accessing different parts of my brain for different genres. Writing non-fiction feels quite different to me than when I write YA. It's much more like fitting pieces of a puzzle together as I write the first draft, before I even put the words down. In YA, I logic things out as I read, developing layers as I revise and write almost simultaneously. With middle grade, I seem to need to world-build more. I write and then revise. I'm not sure I can make sense of it. That's not terribly helpful, is it?

Wordswimmer: Actually, it's very helpful to learn about the demands and challenges posed by different genres. Back to revision, though...

Carrie Jones: Revision is usually a happy time for me because I think of it as play time. I think Kafka said, “Writing is utter solitude, the descent into the cold abyss of oneself.” That may not be a perfect quote. I apologize.

For me, that quote resonates when I think of drafting. It’s then that I feel the solitude of empty pages waiting for words and ideas and action and character. However, once I start revising, I don’t feel alone. I have already been into the abyss and found some interesting things there. My diving gear worked. I’ve resurfaced and I’m still breathing.

Revising is a time to explore those things I found beneath the surface. It’s a time to layer them, play with them. I love it, love it, love it.

Wordswimmer: Thanks so much, Carrie... for sharing your thoughts and love of writing with us.

For more information about Carrie Jones and her work, visit: http://www.myspace.com/calajones
http://classof2k7.com/authors/carrie_jones.php http://classof2k7.com/interviews/authors/carrie_jones/
http://www.carriejonesbooks.com

Other interviews with Carrie appear at:
http://slayground.livejournal.com/205410.html
http://www.theedgeoftheforest.com/archive/2007/apr/interview.shtml
http://sarahbethdurst.blogspot.com/search/label/Once%20Upon%20an%20Interview

For information on Andre Gide's Journals, visit:
http://www.press.uillinois.edu/f00/gide.html

To learn more about Improv Wisdom by Patricia Ryan Madson, check out:
http://www.improvwisdom.com/

And for anyone craving a Fudgsicle, this site's for you:
http://www.icecreamusa.com/popsicle/history/

Trusting the Stars

How do you navigate your way through the unknown journeys of first drafts?

Some writers set sail without a map, loving the feel of the open sea spreading before them--a blank surface on which to make their marks, an unkown world to explore.

Others prefer planning a course to follow before setting out, leaving open the possibility of unexpected excursions along the way.

Each of us has to find our own stars to navigate by.

On some nights the sky's clear, and we can sail without fear, marking our course as we go.

On other nights the journey's more risky. The sky's clouded over, the stars hidden from view, our destination unclear.

How do we find our way?

In his book on writing, Zen in the Art of Writing, Ray Bradbury suggests that plot is:

"... no more than footprints left in the snow after your characters have run by on their way to incredible destinations. Plot is observed after the fact rather than before. It cannot precede action. It is the chart that remains when an action is through. That is all Plot should ever be. It is human desire let run, running, and reaching a goal. It cannot be mechanical. It can only be dynamic."

Years ago, when I asked Ron Koertge (Shakespeare Bats Cleanup, Stoner & Spaz, Margaux with an X) to help me learn how to plot a novel, he simply stared back at me, bewildered by the question, and said something akin to Bradbury's advice: "What's the problem? Just play with the keyboard and, voila, a plot will emerge."

And Robert Parker (author of the detective novels featuring Spenser and hailed as the "dean of American crime fiction"), when asked on MysteryNet.com if he has a writing procedure, explained that he once outlined plots... but no longer relies on them:

"I sit down every day and write five pages on my computer. At some point I found that not outlining worked better than outlining. The outline had become something of a limitation more than it was a support. When I did the Raymond Chandler book, Poodle Springs, which was in the late eighties, I was trying to do it as Chandler did it, and since Chandler didn't outline then I thought I won't outline. If you read Chandler closely you can see that he didn't outline. What the hell happened to that chauffeur? I would recommend to the beginning writer that they should outline because they probably don't have enough self-confidence yet. But I've been writing now since 1971 and I know that I can think it up. I know it will come."

Each book, each story that we set out to write is like a journey out to sea, requiring a different course and a different set of decisions and responses to those decisions. We can't know in advance where the journey will take us... or if we will even make it to the opposite shore.

"Living is a form of not being sure, not knowing what next or how," said Agnes De Mille, the American dancer and choreographer. "The moment you know how, you begin to die a little. The artist never entirely knows. We guess. We may be wrong, but we take leap after leap in the dark."

Writing, too, is a form of not being sure, of leaping daily into the dark.

Louise Hawes (Vanishing Point, Waiting for Christopher, and Rosey in the Present Tense), in an interview with Cynthia Leitich Smith, says "That's the fun, the free-fall of fiction, after all -- going on a journey that surprises you as much as it does your readers."

To find your way on the page, trust that light from the stars above--and within you--will guide your journey, illuminating a path that won't become visible until you set sail.

For more on Ray Bradbury, take a look at his website http://www.raybradbury.com.

Ron Koertge talks about his work at Teenreads.com. Check out this interview at http://www.teenreads.com/features/2002-koertge-ron.asp and learn more about his writing life at http://www.walkerbooks.co.uk/Ron-Koertge.

To read the full interview with Robert Parker, check out MysteryNet.com at http://www.mysterynet.com/books/testimony/fivepages.shtml. You can also catch a webcast with Parker at his publisher's site http://us.penguingroup.com/static/packages/us/robertbparker/start.htm.

For the full interview with Louise Hawes, check out Cynthia Leitich Smith's blog, Cynsations, at http://cynthialeitichsmith.blogspot.com/2005/08/author-interview-louise-hawes-on.html. You can find more of Hawes' thoughts on writing at her website http://www.louisehawes.com.

Muddy Water

Let's start the new year without fooling ourselves.

There are days when the water is going to look like mud--a dark, opaque, impenetrable, ugly liquid without light--and swimming will seem impossible.

Even when you step further and further into the water.... all you'll find will be mud.

But here's the thing: mud may be a necessary forerunner to clarity, and you may need to struggle through it before you reach clear water.

Who ever said writing was straight-forward or linear?

It's a process that involves getting your story down on paper--using any method that works--which means following any thread you're given and pulling to see where it leads.

Sometimes you'll come up empty-handed.

Or find yourself at a dead end.

Or with nothing more than a handful of sludge--or sand--that slips through your fingers after hours of work.

Try not to let yourself get discouraged.

Put the words down in whatever order they come.

Let them simmer and stew.

Cut and paste.

Cross-out, add new words.

Feel the mud squish between your toes! (Take a look at Phyllis Root's marvelous, mud-splattered picture book, Mrs. Potter's Pig, for a refreshing look at the creative process.)

Instead of trying to keep everything neat and orderly, let things sprawl, go in different directions.

Play, lose yourself in mud--the way you used to play when you were a child. (Remember those days when you weren't self-conscious about getting covered with mud?)

Then, all that mattered was the exhilaration and joy of playing, and the freedom to explore the world in your own way.

Letting things come in this way--rather than trying to take control over or force the sequence-- is one of the hardest parts of the writing process for many writers.

When I taught a writing class in Rosemont College's Graduate Program for Writing, Literature and Publishing, some of my students found it hard to believe a story might have emerged from a writer's pen differently than it appeared on the printed page.

We were reading Jack Gantos' Joey Pigza Swallowed the Key, and I wrote to Gantos to ask if he had written the story as it appears in print or in a different sequence.

Here's his response, which he was kind enough to let me share here:

The first chapter was pieced together after I wrote the first draft. I went back and took the original first chapter--and separated out the "wired" riff and added some new material to it so that it is set in school. That short first chapter reads as the opening notes of a symphony and thematically winds itself through the book. Plus, it is a hook for the readers. If I get them in the first 3/4 pages, then I feel I've got them for good.

As for how I write books, I always start with the juicy parts first: the action and the character voice. Then I work out the transitions and theme and all that jazz. But I go for the best writing first and I don't care if it ends up being the beginning, middle or end of the book. I just want to write something that gets me excited and keeps me going. Writing a book is hard work, so it is important to nail down some scenes which are perpetually whipping me with both enthusiasm and determination.

Try Jack Gantos' method of swimming through muddy water.

Write to your passion, to what excites you and causes the hairs on the back of your neck to stand up. Try not to worry about the sequence. You can put the pieces in order later.

To get through the muddy water in the year ahead, keep swimming however you can--back stroke, side stroke, dog paddle, crawl--and trust that you'll reach clear water before too long.

The amazing thing about muddy water is that you can't know in advance what you'll find. You need to be willing to swim into the unknown and explore.