The Sacred Process

 I almost misspelled the title of this blog, making it "The Scared Process" rather than "The Sacred Process." Actually, one word is as good as another. There have been a series of posts by my beloved Type M blogmates about their writing process. 

The truth is that writing a book is about like raising kids. Anyone who has had more than one quickly learns that what applies to one child doesn't the next. I thought after I wrote my first novel all subsequent books would be really, really easy. Ha!

There has been one constant, however. When I'm doing my best work it's a quota of five pages a day, five days a week. That's for the first draft, not subsequent drafts. The truth is that when I don't stick to that I deliberately let life interfere. 

Life, of course, just interferes naturally, without one bit of encouragement from me. When my kids were little I got up very early in the morning and hoped by some miracle I would get my writing done before they popped out of bed. That didn't happen often. Consequently, I learned to write anytime, any place, and under horrendous circumstances. 

Now I don't feel like I'm under any kind of pressure and it's not good for my productivity. Because I slithered away into historical novels I jeopardized my slot with mystery novels. Nevertheless, I'm in the middle of a new mystery that I feel very passionately about. I have a good idea (I think) for the following book, if I have the guts to write it. But I cannot summon up my old stern inner strictness. I'm prey to all kinds of ill winds: meetings, and socializing, and lazy lunches, and too much reading, and binge TV. 

Five pages a day--not polished--is a fairly wicked, but not excessive output. I've learned that when I stick to the quota, on the days I really, really don't want to write my work is just as good (or bad) as days when  words come easily and ideas merge. I've noticed that when I settle for fewer pages, I write more self-consciously and piddle around. When I push for the five and am semi-desperate to just get them done better ideas come out of nowhere. 

Again, I talking exclusively about first drafts. My first draft is totally linear. I never write scenes out of sequence. The following drafts are a different process altogether. That's a critical and intellectual undertaking. At one time I was a first draft junkie. Now I like straightening out a manuscript the best. 

Strangely, I've never known two authors who approach writing the same way. 

Talented, best-selling author Sandra Dallas, once said in a keynote speech that she "didn't understand the writing process." She said she just knew that it worked.   

Seeking Dumbo's Feather

 Lately my fellow Type posters have discussed favorite chairs and writing methods. I definitely have a favorite chair. This is where I read, create first drafts, nap, fret, eat popcorn, cry, read endlessly, and pretty much just live.

This chair accompanied a sectional. It's supposed to be some sort of leather, but I doubt it. Vinyl? Perhaps. All of my furniture is purchased with this criteria: how will it look with a cup of coffee spilled on it? Or tea? Or soup? I bought it from JC Penney's decades ago. It's lasted forever without showing a bit of wear. 

For some reason most of the authors I know are just fascinated by the methods used by other writers. How long do they write, where do they write, etc. We are all searching for Dumbo's feather. Some magic formula or method that will make the process easier. It ain't going to happen. 

I'm amazed at the variety of paths taken to produce books. My own struggle to come up with material that's marketable or fit to read (not always the same thing) has involved a great deal of stealth. When my children were little I got up at 4:00 in the morning. My husband was driving a truck for National Beef and like a good wife I got up to fix him breakfast. It's a cultural thing. That's what rural wives did back in those days. 

Much to my amazement, I found that I had the energy of a little squirrel at 4:00 and nobody, not my kids, not my community, not even God, wanted a thing from me at 4:00. So I kept this habit for quite a number of years, even after Don had moved on to another job. 

Early on I developed a quota system. Five pages a day, five days a week. To accomplish this I learned to write anytime, anywhere, and under any circumstances. Didn't matter. In between numbers at music festivals, emergency rooms, on a bench at a softball game. Whatever. To save myself and the children embarrassment, and appear "normal" I learned to get at it "my work" very quickly, so I wouldn't have to tote it around to strange places.   

After Don bought the truck line and our children left home, my sleeping/waking hours mirrored his. When I became involved in the business, our hours were identical. Through the years my quota changed to a one page minimum and included a great deal of non-fiction.

Now I get up at 6:00. Since I'm in the first draft phase of my latest mystery, I curl up in my chair and am writing this particular book in longhand. I don't know why I'm using such an old-fashioned method, but I am. 

I have a dedicated office with a fast internet connection and a huge monitor. When I transfer the manuscript to the computer, I love the luxury of being able to edit it instantly. 

A friend was recently invited to contribute a non-fiction book to a series. She's thrilled. She plans to isolate a big chunk of time and get 'er done. This has never worked for me. It's what I want to do. Would love to do. Heaven knows I've tried it often enough. But when I do there's always some crisis. My allergies act up, something happens to my adult children or grandchildren, or a pet, or there's a plumbing problem. You get the drift. 

Now there is the relentless demand of social media and marketing. There's a proliferation of material I should be reading. Zoom calls and oodles of seminars. 

What works best for me is still the method I developed in the beginning: a certain number of pages five days a week whenever, wherever, and any time. Until I enter the hallowed halls of bestsellerdom and people bring me meals and whisper in my presence, I suspect that will always be the case. 

The Best Worst Time

I began writing a new mystery Wednesday. The timing was absolutely horrible. I'm always stressed during the Christmas season. There is too much to do, too many decisions to make, and since I'm extremely introverted, way too many places to go. I'm very quickly worn to a frazzle.

I began this book at this dreadful time on purpose. Yes. Deliberately chose the worst possible day in a year that hasn't been all that hot. I even wrote my ideal quota of five pages. In longhand, yet.

Fractured Families will come out in March and I would love to have the first draft of my next book done before that time.

But really now. Beginning a book right during the Christmas season? Why would I make such a peculiar move? Because one of the most important things a novelist has to learn to do is to get over regarding writing as more precious and mysterious than other kinds of work.

We are on the same plane as everyone else in the world. We do not exist at a higher elevation. Nurses, teachers, mathematicians, musicians, fast food workers, clerks, bankers, truck drivers get up every morning and go to work.

There's a downhill slope from regarding writing as very special undertaking to then seeing oneself as a special person. From that comes the sense that the world should accommodate your talent and leave a box lunch at your doorstep every noon.

Ain't going to happen. I started writing when my daughters were young and I used a quota system for a book. Five pages a day, five days a week. I've strayed from that many, many times, but it still works the best. I trained myself to write anywhere under any circumstances. One of the bonuses of the quota was that I became much more realistic about time. Since I'm a morning person, I began scheduling appointments in the afternoon.

There were and still are days when it's nearly impossible to work in writing. And looking back to the time when I was quite rigid about the quota and wrote just pure D crap on these very horrible days, when I reread the material the next day I was always, ALWAYS surprised.

The pages I had created were as good or as bad as the drivel I usually turned out.