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With apologies, it’s been a while since I’ve posted to the Writing in Overdrive blog. I promise to be more faithful in posting new content that you can use to be a more productive and creatively inspired writer. I’ve got some exciting content lined up for this site, especially for this special time of year, National Novel Writing Month (aka NaNoWriMo).
I want to kick off this new series of inspiring and motivational posts with an interview with my friend Kerry Nietz, award-winning science fiction author. He has more than a half dozen speculative novels in print, along with a novella, a couple short stories, and a non-fiction book, FoxTales.
I’ve read and I highly recommend Kerry’s novel A Star Curiously Singing, which won the Readers Favorite Gold Medal Award for Christian Science Fiction. It’s a dystopian thriller with a strong cyberpunk flavor. It has more than a hundred five-star reviews on Amazon and is often mentioned on “Best of” lists.
You’ve probably heard of Kerry’s most talked-about novel (which I’ve also read and recommend), the genre-bending Amish Vampires in Space. The title might lead you to assume it’s a campy satire on the vampire and Amish genres, but Kerry wrote a credible, enthralling Amish-themed science-fantasy tale with believable characters and an absorbing plot. Amish Vampires in Space attracted attention on NBC’s Tonight Show and in The Washington Post, Library Journal, and Publishers Weekly. Newsweek called it “a welcome departure from the typical Amish fare.”
Kerry describes himself as “a refugee from the software industry” who “spent more than a decade of his life flipping bits, first as one of the principal developers of the database product FoxPro for the now mythical Fox Software, and then as one of Bill Gates’s minions at Microsoft.” Kerry is a husband, a father, a technophile, and a movie buff. I wanted to know more about Kerry’s roots as a writer and his creative process. Here’s the interview:
Q: Why do you write, Kerry? Who or what inspired you or influenced you to become a novelist?
Kerry Nietz: The simple answer is: It’s something I always wanted to do. I grew up reading. I was the kid who would badger his parents for “just one more book” when the Scholastic catalog arrived every month. And they often bought all those “more books” for me, despite being a rural family where money always seemed tight. I dabbled in writing back then too. Writing little scraps of stories. Fun ideas that never really turned into anything.
Anyone who knows me knows I communicate in stories. I love a fun anecdote. Life is a collection of stories to me.
Q: It’s said that there are two kinds of fiction writers — those who outline and those who “write by the seat of their pants.” Accordingly, the non-outliners are often called “pantsers,” but I’ve never liked that term. I prefer the term Ray Bradbury coined when he told writers, “You’ve got to jump off the cliff and build your wings on the way down.” He was urging writers not to outline, but to simply leap off the cliff and into the story and discover the plot and characters as they write their way down through the story. So my preferred term for writing without outline is “cliff-jumping.” Kerry, I know that you’re a cliff-jumper. Does cliff-jumping enable you to be a faster writer? Or does it slow you down?
Kerry Nietz: It probably doesn’t make me faster. I’m sure that, if I were able to outline, the actual writing would be quick. But the outlining might take a long time, and I’m averse to that. Sitting for weeks or even months without putting actual words to the story would kill me.
Q: From page 1 to “The End,” how long does it usually take you to write a novel?
Kerry Nietz: The average time to write a novel, from start to final draft, is around nine months. Depends on the story and the number of viewpoints I need to service. First person stories are quicker.
Q: Are you meticulous about buffing and polishing your first draft as you go? Or do you write quickly and spontaneously in first draft, never looking back?
Kerry Nietz: There is a level of polishing that occurs as I go, because I like to lightly edit yesterday’s work in preparation for today’s. I usually stop for the day in the middle of scene. That gives me something to read and edit the next day and makes it easy to get into the flow of writing again.
Q: Have you ever written a section, then wondered “Why did I write that?” and later discovered that it became an important subplot or storyline?
Kerry Nietz: Yes, often. Same goes for characters and situations. They sometimes seem, initially, to be superfluous or simply window-dressing to help paint the tone or setting. But later they become pivotal. The “serendipity-ness” of it becomes even more amazing when it occurs over the course of a series. For instance, in one of my series, I had no idea who the final “big bad” was until my protagonist walked into the room with him. Then it became blindingly obvious — and it was someone I’d created two books previous.
Q: How much of the story do you know before you start? Do you know how you want it to end? Does a better ending usually occur to you than the one you originally had in mind?
Kerry Nietz: It has happened both ways. Sometimes I have a concrete idea of the finale and it ends that way. Other times it is vague and becomes clearer as I close in on it. All my Amish science fiction novels have been like that. I have no idea how they end, other than “something big,” but when I get there, the “big” becomes obvious.
Q: Ray Bradbury claimed he almost never experienced writer’s block because he trusted his unconscious mind to supply what he needed when he needed it. Theodore Sturgeon, who also advocated cliff jumping (he called it “the narrative push” approach), was chronically afflicted with writer’s block. Do you ever get stuck or blocked?
Kerry Nietz: I rarely get blocked. I mean, there have been times when I’ve set for a few minutes not knowing what part of the story to tell next, but eventually I just pick a path and start writing. Usually turns out fine.
Habit helps with that too. If you’re used to writing at the same time each day then your mind is ready to write when it’s that time. A writer can’t wait until they are “feeling it.” Some of the best writing was during those times when I felt I was grudgingly pushing through, simply committed to getting my word count in for the day.
Q: Do you see writing fiction as primarily a conscious process or an unconscious process? In your experience, where do ideas and inspiration come from? Is writing related to dreaming, in your view?
Kerry Nietz: Writing is a faith walk for me. I start the journey with the expectation that it will go somewhere. I pray about it. I keep the habits, putting in my daily time, during my usual writing window, committed to at least a couple pages. Before you know it, you’re at dozens of pages, then hundreds. So, I guess it is a mixture of conscious and unconscious. Conscious in the habit. Unconscious to where the ideas are all going to come from. All I need is enough for today, and that’s what I get, thankfully.
My profound thanks to Kerry Nietz for giving us a behind-the-scenes glimpse into his imaginative and highly productive writing world. Follow or message Kerry on Facebook at http://on.fb.me/1wYR9NU. Follow him on Twitter at http://bit.ly/1DQKzLM. Visit his website at www.KerryNietz.com. Most important of all, read his work:
Fraught (DarkTrench Shadow Number 2) — Paperback
The DarkTrench Saga Complete Collection: A Star Curiously Singing, The Superlative Stream, Freeheads — Kindle Edition:
Amish Vampires in Space (Peril in Plain Space Book 1) Paperback
I was as shocked as anyone when I heard that Bob Dylan had been awarded the Nobel Prize for Literature on October 13, 2016:
Don’t get me wrong. I’m a Bob Dylan fan. Have been since I first heard his music. For more than fifty years, he’s had more influence on American music and culture than anyone else I can think of. Songs like “Blowin’ in the Wind,” “The Times They Are a-Changin’,” “Subterranean Homesick Blues,” and “When the Ship Comes In” — that’s the soundtrack of my adolescence, when I first began thinking seriously about the Bomb and Vietnam.
But the Nobel Prize for Literature? Come on!
The Swedish Academy claimed to have given Dylan the award “for having created new poetic expressions within the great American song tradition.” There are already enough awards for music, and Dylan has won them all. But again I ask — Literature?
There’s an unambiguous definition of “literature” — “a body of written works.” Literature is work that is written to be read. Music is work that is written to be listened to. One of the most essential truths of literature is that words have meaning, words are important. And the word literature shouldn’t be misused.
Music ain’t literature. The Nobel Prize has jumped the shark.
Yet there are parallels between the creative process that produces literature and the creative process that produces music. We can learn some useful principles for writing stories and novels by listening to this Nobel-winning folk-blues troubadour, Bob Dylan.
It turns out that Dylan wrote songs in very much the same way writers like John Steinbeck and Stephen King wrote novels, and the same way Ray Bradbury and Anton Chekhov wrote short stories. He silenced his inner critic, wrote from the unconscious mind, and wrote quickly, without thinking or critiquing what he wrote. When Dylan wrote songs, he was writing in overdrive. As a songwriter, he compared himself to story writer Edgar Allan Poe and poet John Keats.
He once told an interviewer, “It’s nice to be able to put yourself in an environment where you can completely accept all the unconscious stuff that comes to you from your inner workings of your mind. And block yourself off to where you can control it all, take it down. . . . Edgar Allan Poe must have done that. People who are dedicated writers.”
How did Dylan tap into those unconscious inner workings? He says our unconscious mind contains both thoughts and memories, some good, some evil, and both the good and the evil bubble up from the unconscious as grist for the creative process. As we create, we sort through out all this unconscious raw material, and we sift out the evil thoughts (which he calls “baggage”) and we distill the good memories and ideas into the creative process. “You must get rid of all that baggage,” he said. “It’s important to get rid of all them thoughts.” [Source: Jonathan Cott, editor, Bob Dylan: The Essential Interviews (New York: Simon & Schuster, 2017), 393.]
Once the unconscious creative mind has given up its random contents, the conscious and rational critic-editor within us conducts “some kind of surveillance” of the good thoughts that remain. The rational mind sorts through the chaos and disorder that the unconscious mind has produced, imposing an orderly structure on ideas, words, images, and symbols thrown off by the creative explosion of the unconscious mind. In Dylan’s songwriting, it all happens very quickly, just as a story is written quickly when the author is writing in overdrive.
Dylan told an interviewer, “The best songs to me — my best songs — are songs which were written very quickly. Yeah, very, very quickly. Just about as much time as it takes to write it down is about as long as it takes to write it. . . . You can still stay in the unconscious frame of mind to pull it off, which is the state of mind you have to be in anyway.” [Source: Benjamin Hedin, Studio A: The Bob Dylan Reader (New York: W.W. Norton & Co., 2004), 213, 215.]
He recalled that he wrote the song “Every Grain of Sand” while in a transcendent state — not a drug-induced state, but a state of being in touch with his unconscious mind, the state I call “writing in overdrive.” Dylan added, “Yeah. In that area where Keats is. Yeah. That’s a good poem set to music.”
Dylan’s reference to the English Romantic poet John Keats (1795-1821) is significant. Keats created from the unconscious. He summoned powerful word-pictures from his unconscious mind while in a state of overdrive. In a letter to his friend Benjamin Bailey, November 22, 1817, he wrote, “O for a life of Sensations rather than of Thoughts!” And in a letter to his younger brothers George and Thomas Keats, December 22, 1817, he describe a quality “which Shakespeare possessed so enormously — I mean negative capability, that is, when a man is capable of being in uncertainties, mysteries, doubts, without any irritable reaching after fact and reason.”
This “negative capability” Keats wrote of, the ability to immerse oneself in sensations and uncertainties and mysteries, was the same creative process Bob Dylan practiced. It’s a process Ray Bradbury reminded himself of when he hung a sign next to his typewriter that read, “Don’t think!” The unconscious mind doesn’t think. The writer-in-overdrive doesn’t think. Our creative unconscious mind dreams, feels, imagines, free-associates, and throws off a brilliant shower of sparks composed of ideas and sensory impressions.
That’s what Bob Dylan is saying to you and me as writers: Stop thinking. Write unconsciously. Turn off your mind, listen to your unconscious, and write a song, a story, a novel, a play. And who knows? Maybe the next time your phone rings, it will be the Swedish Academy inviting you to Sweden to accept your Nobel Prize for Literature.
Hey, it happened to Dylan. It could happen to you.
“Every day I try to be in communication with the universe in an unconscious way.” —Paulo Coelho
Writing faster and writing better is not a matter of techniques or shortcuts or writing secrets. Sure, there are a few tricks you can learn that will increase your writing speed at the margins: You can eliminate time-wasting habits, use voice dictation software instead of typing, and so forth. I talk about these tricks in my books, and they can help you become a faster writer. But these tricks won’t make you more a more brilliant writer.
There’s only one writing insight you can learn that will make you a faster and more brilliant writer: You must learn to write unconsciously.
In other words, you must learn to write in flow or in the zone. Great writing does not involve thinking. Great writing comes from a deeper part of us than the conscious intellect. It comes from the unconscious mind.
John Steinbeck, in a 1962 letter to an aspiring writer, said, “Write freely and as rapidly as possible and throw the whole thing on paper. Never correct or rewrite until the whole thing is down.” Steinbeck warned the young writer not to stop and edit or rewrite while in the creative process. “Rewrite in process,” he said, “is usually found to be an excuse for not going on. It also interferes with flow and rhythm which can only come from a kind of unconscious association with the material.”
When you are first drafting (or “fast drafting,” as I prefer to call it), always move forward, never look back. By writing freely and quickly and without inhibitions, you tap into the writer’s most powerful engine of imagination, the unconscious mind.
Ursula K. Le Guin has described her writing process as “a pure trance state. … All I seek when writing is to allow my unconscious mind to control the course of the story, using rational thought only to reality check when revising.”
In Becoming a Writer, Dorothea Brande talks about a creative faculty we all possess, though few of us are aware of it — ”The higher imagination, you may call it; your own endowment of genius, great or small; the creative aspect of your mind, which is lodged almost entirely in the unconscious.”
Brande underscores the fact that this faculty is the UN-conscious mind, not the SUB-conscious mind, because “sub-” suggests that which is low and inferior. Far from being inferior to the conscious mind, Brande says, the unconscious “has a reach as far above our average intellect as it has depths below. . . . The unconscious must be trusted to bring you aid from a higher level than that on which you ordinarily function.” In fact, she says, “the root of genius is in the unconscious, not the conscious, mind.”
One of Dorothea Brande’s most famous disciples, Ray Bradbury, often said that conscious thought is poisonous to the creative process, and that true creativity springs from the unconscious mind. In a 1975 speech, he said, “I have had a sign by my typewriter for the better part of twenty years, now, which says, ‘Don’t think.’ I hate all those signs that say ‘Think.’ That’s the enemy of creativity. . . . Intellect can help correct. But emotion, first, surprises creativity out in the open where it can be pinned down!”
What is the unconscious mind? Where in the brain is it located? Is it in the right brain or the murky region of the limbic system? Is the unconscious, creative mind the result of the synergistic functioning of many regions of the brain working together? Or does the function of the unconscious mind extend beyond the boundaries of the brain? Is it a creative activity of the immortal human spirit — a human reflection of the creativity of God?
I don’t know. No one knows. The term unconscious mind is a convenient label for a phenomenon we can’t explain. We don’t need to know where the unconscious mind is located or how it works, but I can tell you this from my own personal experience:
The unconscious mind is the key to unlocking our incredible creative powers.
“There is no rule on how to write. Sometimes it comes easily and perfectly; sometimes it’s like drilling rock and then blasting it out with charges.” —Ernest Hemingway
Many writers obsess about the so-called “rules” of writing. They ask: “What are the rules? What if I’m breaking the rules and don’t know it? What does ‘Show, don’t tell’ mean? What does ‘Write what you know’ mean? How can I get published if I don’t know the rules?”
In my humble opinion, there are only a few “rules of writing” that are so fundamental and universal they truly deserve to be called “rules.” These are the commonsense commandments you must obey or you’re not a writer: “Read every day.” “Maintain a consistent writing schedule.” “Write whether you feel ‘inspired’ or not.” “Finish what you start.” “Never give up.” “Never be boring.”
Any other so-called “rules” are not rules at all. They should be called “principles.” A principle is a general guide to behavior that has proven useful in most situations. There have probably been times when you’ve said, “That’s a good principle, but it doesn’t apply to this situation.” Many people feel anxious at the thought of “breaking” rules. But if we would think of the “general principles of writing” instead of the “rules of writing,” we could relax and be more creative and uninhibited.
Screenwriter Robert McKee put it this way: “Story is about principles, not rules. A rule says, ‘You must do it this way.’ A principle says, ‘This works . . . and has through all remembered time.’ The difference is crucial. . . . Anxious, inexperienced writers obey rules. Rebellious, unschooled writers break rules. Artists master the form.”
Science fiction writer Will Shetterly (Dogland), agrees: “There are no rules in writing. There are useful principles. Throw them away when they’re not useful. But always know what you’re throwing away.”
Leonard Bishop, in Dare to Be a Great Writer, suggests that, instead of feeling anxious or hesitant about breaking rules, we should sin boldly. He writes:
If you break a “writing rule,” make it noticeable. Exploit your infraction until your personal technique becomes another rule. . . .
A popular rule is “Don’t tell it, show it!” Yet, if you have a scene with ten people who are important and you cannot devise a way to bring them all into action, then tell [about] them — and keep on telling. . . . Offer them, one at a time, as though introducing the cast of a play. Narrate them, describe them, document them, use exposition to reveal their relationships to one another — until the information is down. Tell it all — interestingly. A writer should be bold, versatile, inventive, imaginative, rebellious.
Do not break any rules at the beginning of a novel. It is advisable to allow the reader to get used to your manner of writing before you astonish them with your daring attitudes. (This is not a rule: it is a suggestion.)
E. B. White (The Elements of Style and Charlotte’s Web) observed, “There is . . . no infallible guide to good writing, no assurance that a person who thinks clearly will be able to write clearly, no key that unlocks the door, no inflexible rules by which the young writer may steer his course. He will often find himself steering by stars that are disturbingly in motion.”
Novelist Tom Robbins (Even Cowgirls Get the Blues) said, “Rules such as ‘Write what you know,’ and ‘Show, don’t tell,’ while doubtlessly grounded in good sense, can be ignored with impunity by any novelist nimble enough to get away with it. There is, in fact, only one rule in writing fiction: Whatever works, works.”
Ralph Keyes, in The Courage to Write, makes the case that a writer’s success depends far more on passion and conviction than on following any set of writing “rules”:
The more I read and write, the more convinced I am that writing has less to do with acquired technique than with inner conviction. The assurance that you have something to say that the world needs to hear counts for more than literary skill. Those writers who hold their readers’ attention are the ones who grab them by the lapel and say, “You’ve got to listen to what I am about to tell you.” It’s hard to be passionate. It means you must put your whole poke on the table. Yet this very go-for-broke quality grabs and holds a reader far more surely than any mastery of technique.
Fantasy master Neil Gaiman offers his own eight rules of writing. His first rule is so basic he expressed it in a single word: “Write.” Most of his other rules are less concise but equally basic: “Finish what you’re writing” and “Fix it.” His eighth and final rule is my favorite, because it repeals all other so-called “rules”—
The main rule of writing is that if you do it with enough assurance and confidence, you’re allowed to do whatever you like. (That may be a rule for life as well as for writing. But it’s definitely true for writing.) So write your story as it needs to be written. Write it honestly, and tell it as best you can. I’m not sure that there are any other rules. Not ones that matter.
Forget “rules.” Master the principles and follow them when they help you, abandon them when they hold you back. Relax and enjoy the creative process. Write with joy!
For more insight into how to write freely, powerfully, confidently, without inhibition, read my books for writers. Learn to tap into the incredibly powerful source of creative inspiration, “the Muse” or unconscious mind.
“You don’t want to think when you’re writing. You want to stop thinking and just go on inspiration.” —Garth Stein
Gregory Benford is an astrophysicist and a science fiction writer. He is best known for his Galactic Center Saga, beginning with In the Ocean of Night (1977). Benford says that, though he is a rational scientist, he relies heavily on unconscious intuition when writing fiction. When he began writing In the Ocean of Night in the summer of 1975, he followed an unconscious, unplanned process that, he said, unfolded as “a series of revelations.”
Benford had written his way to the midpoint of the novel when a stunning plot twist came to him out of the blue — a shocking surprise that was exactly what he needed at that point in the story. It was brilliant — and completely unforeseen. As Benford pondered the plot twist, he realized he had unknowingly planted clues throughout the first half of the book. The plot twist would be absolutely fitting and would play fair with the reader by being set up beforehand — yet the reader would not see it coming any more than Benford had.
How had he managed to plant those clues when he wasn’t even conscious of where the clues were leading him? Answer: Benford’s unconscious mind knew all along. But he had to write half the novel in order for his conscious mind to catch up to what his unconscious mind already knew.
“It was that kind of assembly work,” he later said, “in which you slowly understand what is going on. . . . This seems to be the way that I have to write books. It takes a long time to put together the ideas and figure out what it means.”
As we learn to rely on the power of the unconscious mind, we discover a completely new way of imagining, creating, and writing. Our stories, scenes, dialogue, and emotions spill forth with compelling energy from the depths of the uninhibited, unconscious mind.
This doesn’t mean the conscious mind — the intellect — is unimportant. The conscious mind is the critical and analytical part of us, not the creative part. Creativity springs from the Muse. To write truthful and compelling fiction, we must understand the role of the unconscious mind — and allow the unconscious to drive the process.
Don’t try to analyze what the unconscious mind is doing. “The unconscious more than anything hates being dragged into public,” observed science-fantasy writer C. L. Moore, adding that the unconscious “can’t work under the inspection of the conscious mind.”
Great writers understand that art (as filmmaker Jean Cocteau observed) “is a marriage of the conscious and the unconscious.” Garth Stein, author of The Art of Racing in the Rain, explains how the conscious and unconscious work together. “The trick with writing,” he said, “is that there’s an art to it and there’s a craft to it. The craft of writing is all the stuff that you can learn through school, [going] to workshops and [reading] books. Learn characterization, plot and dialogue and pacing and word choice and point of view. Then there’s also the art of it which is sort of the unknown, the inspiration, the stuff that is noncerebral.”
As you write, don’t think. Fantasize. Daydream. Play with ideas. Let your unconscious mind take control of your story. Let it give life to your characters. Let it plan the hidden twists and turns of your plot.
“The best thing to do is to loosen my grip on my pen and let it go wandering about.” —Machado de Assis
For more insight on how to write faster, write freely, and write brilliantly, read my other books for writers:
I like to hear writers talk about how and why they write, and how their creative process works. So from time to time, I’ll feature interviews with highly creative, highly productive writers, beginning today with Jacci Turner.
As a novelist, Jacci has written mostly middle grade and young adult fiction (her book Bending Willowwas selected by Nevada Librarians to represent Nevada at the National Book Festival in Washington D.C.). Her first novel for adult readers, The Retreat: A Tale of Spiritual Awakening, will be published March 28, 2017, by Harper Legend, an imprint of HarperCollins. You may pre-order it here. Now, meet Jacci Turner:
Jim Denney: Jacci, is there a single thread or theme that runs through your books?
Jacci Turner: Yes, I’d say I’m a bit of an optimist so, even though the world can be a really difficult place, I think there’s good and hope in it. My tag line is “Infusing Reality with Hope.”
Jim: You call your new novel The Retreat “a tale of spiritual awakening.” What inspired the story?
Jacci: This story is based on a real experience I had. I was sent to a monastery in Nebraska by a friend who raised the money for me to go to this retreat. The first night I was walking around, wondering what I was doing at a monastery in Nebraska and this book sort of downloaded into my brain. The exercises in the book are some that I did at the retreat, as well as some from other retreats. Of course, the characters are made up, but they’re a compilation of real people.
Jim: Do you write primarily to express what you already know, or to explore questions and find answers through the writing process?
Jacci: I think I write to clarify what I’ve gone through. I like finding words for my experience. Even if I’m writing fantasy, I’m trying to understand my world.
Jim: What have you learned about writing that no one ever told you, even in writer’s workshops or books on writing? In other words, what have you discovered about writing simply by writing?
Jacci: I’ve learned that your characters can take over a story. That was a surprise to me. And I’ve learned that a story can come to you and you can choose to ignore it until it goes away, but some are stubborn and insistent and nag at you until you break down and write them. It’s a more mystical experience than I ever knew.
Jim: It’s been said that a writer is a reader moved to emulation. Who are your literary heroes and heroines, the authors who inspired you?
Jacci: Ah, that’s like asking me to pick a favorite child. I love so many. . . . Lucy Maud Montgomery, Gail Carson Levine, Madeleine L’Engle, and of course J. K. Rowling, for a start.
Jim: What is the hardest part of writing for you? What’s the easiest?
Jacci: Writing is easy, editing is hard. I have a friend who loves to edit. I hate her.
Jim: Hah! I’ve got one of those friends, too. I hear you. I love the process of creating. I do not enjoy revising and editing. Speaking of the creative process, do you have any writing rituals or habits that help to prepare you for a writing session?
Jacci: I write on Tuesdays. It’s something I started when I began writing about eight years ago. Tuesday was my day off and it has worked for me. I’ve written thirteen books (two aren’t yet published) on Tuesdays. I get to the library about ten and write until two or three. That’s it. I think that authors telling other writers that they have to get up at four a.m. and write every day are doing us disservice. I mean what is four a.m. anyway? I’ve certainly never seen it.
Jim: That’s fascinating! I don’t think I’ve ever met a Tuesday writer before. I’m a “write every day” writer, but I’m also a “whatever works for you” writer, and everybody’s creative process is different and unique. I’m sure there are people reading this who can only write one day a week, or fifteen minutes a day, and they’re tired of hearing writing instructors telling them they’re doing it “wrong.” There’s no one-size-fits-all when it comes to writing, and you are proof, Jacci, that you can be amazingly productive writing one day a week — especially if you use that day to the fullest.
Now, some writers outline or “pre-write” their stories. Others — so-called “pantsers” who “write by the seat of their pants” — leap into their stories and write without an outline. Which type of writer are you? And why does that approach suit you?
Jacci: I’m a “pantser.” Maybe it’s just my personality, but I’ve never outlined a book. I do mull, though. I mull over a story line sometimes before I write, so maybe I’m just outlining in my head. Maybe I’m a closet outliner! Oh no!
Jim: How do you imagine scenes?
Jacci: I’m very visual. I see and hear it in my head, like a movie. Because of that, I have trouble writing in enough description. That’s what my editor always says: “I don’t know where we are. Where are we?” I mean, I see it. Why can’t she?
Jim: Do you experience writing “in flow”? How do you get into “flow”?
Jacci: There are only two places I’ve experienced losing time, one is while writing, the other in prayer. I love to get in the flow of a story, especially during my once or twice a year get-away-to-write weekends. I love to be alone and just have time to write and write and write. Those are the best. I have friends that let me house-sit in the summer on their little farm. It’s such a privilege to have time and just get lost in it.
Jim: What advice do you have for aspiring authors?
Jacci: Read. Write. Jump out of an airplane if you feel stuck. We need to live life if we are going to write about it. Join a critique group and a writing group. We need all the help and support we can get! Never stop learning.
Jim: Thanks, Jacci, for giving us a glimpse into your creative process. You’ve shown us that creativity is more than artistic expression. It’s deeply connected to our spirituality and to our uniqueness as individuals. I wonder how many other “Tuesday writers” (or some-other-day-of-the-week writers) are reading these words. You’ve given them excellent affirmation today. Keep infusing reality with hope!
I recently discovered that Ray Bradbury made an appearance with Groucho Marx on the 1950s quiz show You Bet Your Life. At age thirty-five, Ray had two novels and a short story collection to his credit (The Martian Chronicles, Fahrenheit 451, and The Golden Apples of the Sun), as well as the screenplay for John Huston’s motion picture Moby Dick. It’s an entertaining TV appearance from May 24, 1956. Among other things, we learn how Ray Bradbury met his wife. Ray is on-screen during the first eight minutes of the program. Enjoy.