Novelist Trish Perry (author of A Special Kind of Double and A Midnight Clear) interviews Yours Truly at the Trish Perry Blogsite. There I talk about wanting to be a writer since I was, oh, nine years old or so. And the time God answered my prayer in a surprising way. And writing for children versus writing for adults. And why my Timebenders series (beginning with Battle Before Time) is exactly the kind of encouraging, empowering story kids need in these difficult times.
While you’re at Trish Perry’s Blogsite, register for a chance to win a FREE copy of Battle Before Time.
“The scariest moment is always just before you start.” —Stephen King
I once taught a writer’s workshop and a young woman came to me after a session and said, “I just can’t get started. I know what I want to write about, and I know my characters — it all seems so perfect in my head. But when I try to write the perfect opening line, nothing comes to me — nothing that feels good enough. Without a brilliant first sentence, I can’t write the rest of the story. I’m afraid to start writing.”
This is a classic writer’s fear — the fear of the blank page (or blank screen). A surprising number of experienced writers are afflicted with this fear well into their careers.
Margaret Atwood, author of The Handmaid’s Tale, said that, even after publishing more than a dozen novels, “Blank pages inspire me with terror.”
Oscar- and Emmy-winning screenwriter Aaron Sorkin (The West Wing, The Social Network) said, “I love writing, but hate starting. The page is awfully white and it says, ‘You may have fooled some of the people some of the time but those days are over.”1
Before Nobel-winning novelist Gabriel García Márquez could sell 30 million copies of One Hundred Years of Solitude, he had to work up the courage to write the first line. “All my life,” he told an interviewer, “I’ve been frightened at the moment I sit down to write.”2
Another Nobel winner, John Steinbeck, wrote in his journal, “I suffer as always from the fear of putting down the first line. It is amazing the terrors, the magics, the prayers, the straightening shyness that assails one.”3
The fear of the blank page may be as old as literature itself. In 1295, the poet Dante Alighieri wrote in Vita Nuova (The New Life), “It seemed to me that I had undertaken a theme too lofty for myself, so that I did not dare to begin writing, and I remained for several days with the desire to write and the fear of beginning.”4
If you struggle with fear of the blank page or the blank screen, you’re in excellent company. But you don’t have to be paralyzed by this fear. Here are some practical tools I’ve discovered that enable me to start writing, keep writing, and finish.
Save the first for last.
A lot of well-meaning writing teachers do their students a disservice by saying, “You’ve got to rivet your reader’s attention with a knockout first sentence.” Yes, you need to grab the reader’s attention quickly, at the very beginning. But what writing teachers fail to tell their students is that a book does not need to be written in the order it will be read.
You can start writing in the middle, or near the end, or you can let the whole thing grow organically from a pile of tangled nouns and verbs. You don’t have to write the first sentence first.
Ray Bradbury’s Fahrenheit 451 opens with one of the best first sentences in literary history: “It was a pleasure to burn.” The novel had its beginnings in a 1947 short story, “Bright Phoenix.” Bradbury expanded the story to a 25,000-word novella, “The Fireman,” in 1950. Only when Bradbury wrote the final 50,000-word novel in 1953 did that famous opening line occur to him — and it was one of the last sentences Bradbury wrote for the novel.
Sometimes it’s best to save the first for last. As you face the blank page, don’t focus on writing a perfect first sentence. Forget perfectionism altogether. Don’t listen to the voice of your Inner Critic. Find any old way into the story and start writing. You might even put this down as the first sentence of your novel: [BRILLIANT OPENING SENTENCE GOES HERE.] Then keep writing.
Dorothea Brande, in Becoming a Writer, advises, “Simply start working. If a good first sentence does not come, leave a space for it and write it in later. Write as rapidly as possible.”5
After your first draft is written, you’ll know your story inside and out, backward and forward. Knowing your story can be a huge advantage in crafting a brilliant opening line.
Don’t let fear control you.
Approach the blank page with a chip on your shoulder. Tell fear to get off your back and out of your way. Refuse to let fear have its way with you. Erica Jong says that refusing to be controlled by fear is one of the greatest lessons life has taught her:
All the good things that have happened to me in the last several years have come, without exception, from a willingness to change, to risk the unknown, to do the very things I feared most. Every poem, every page of fiction I have written, has been written with anxiety, occasionally panic, always uncertainty about its reception. . . . I have not ceased being fearful, but I have ceased to let fear control me.6
Get mad at fear. Snub it and spurn it. The greater your anger, the less your fear — and anger can be a great motivator to get you writing. Romance writer Jo Leigh (One Wicked Night, Relentless) has a simple, blunt maxim for dealing with fear of the blank page: “Screw the fear.”
Don’t let fear bully you, control your decisions, or frighten you away from the blank page. Take charge of your fear. Stare it down and show it who’s boss. As dystopian novelist Tahereh Mafi said, “The words get easier the moment you stop fearing them.”
If you can’t start writing, do writing-related tasks.
This is treacherous territory. Doing so-called “writing-related tasks” can become an excuse for procrastination. Getting on Google and doing “research” can become a way of putting off getting started, while telling ourselves it’s really “writing-related.” I hesitate to suggest a course that might actually keep you from writing.
At same time, I know you can often get unstuck by circling around your writing, probing and testing until you find a way in. To make sure you are truly approaching the blank page from a new angle, not simply avoiding it, set a time limit — no more than ten minutes — to do research, outlining, or note-making. Within those ten minutes, probably much sooner, a piece of information you turn up or a phrase you jot down will spark an idea — and you’ll be off and writing.
Ray Bradbury would wander the Los Angeles Main Library, take down a book, read a few lines of poetry or a paragraph from an astronomy book — and his brain would light up. He’d snatch some library scratch paper and a stubby little pencil, and he’d fill those slips of paper with notes and ideas. Then he’d hurry home and turn those ideas into stories.
Young adult fantasy author Laini Taylor (Daughter of Smoke and Bone) says:
Never sit staring at a blank page or screen. If you find yourself stuck, write. Write about the scene you’re trying to write. Writing about is easier than writing, and chances are, it will give you your way in. You could try listing ten things that might happen next, or do a timed free-write — fast, non-precious forward momentum; you don’t even have to read it afterward, but it might give you ideas. Try anything and everything. Never fall still, and don’t be lazy.7
That’s practical advice. Keep writing, keep moving, keep pushing forward until you find a way into your story.
Don’t try — do.
Good writing is not something we try to do. It’s something we do. Good writing flows naturally. The harder we try to write, the harder writing becomes.
Sometimes, we find it difficult to begin because we put too much pressure on ourselves. We’re trying too hard to be clever or artsy. Or we’re trying to impress. Or we’re putting pressure on ourselves to be productive because we’ve got a word-count goal to reach.
When we realize we’re trying too hard, the solution is to relax. That doesn’t mean we stop writing. It doesn’t mean we take the day off. It means we stop pressuring ourselves and simply write for fun. Great writing is relaxed writing. You can be serious and be relaxed. You can work hard, hour after hour, and still be emotionally and mentally relaxed.
If you need ideas, step away from your keyboard, take a walk, take a shower, lie down and daydream, fix yourself a hot drink, or listen to music. Create a little space between yourself and your work — and allow your unconscious mind to fill that space with images, scenes, characters, and dialogue.
Don’t stay away from the keyboard too long. Don’t read or turn on the news or talk on the phone. Don’t do anything that would fill that space with someone else’s words. Don’t play an addictive game on your computer or phone. Relax quietly. Ten or twenty minutes will do. When you come back to the keyboard, you’ll be renewed and refreshed — and you’ll probably have some powerful new ideas, ready to write.
Write what you love and love what you write.
Sometimes sit paralyzed before the blank screen because we’re trying to write something we don’t love or care about. That’s when our unconscious mind rebels. That’s when the Muse stamps off in a huff.
To write freely, write what you love. Ray Bradbury said, “Fall in love and stay in love. Write only what you love, and love what you write. The key word is love. You have to get up in the morning and write something you love, something to live for.”
When you write what you love and love what you write, the blank page doesn’t represent fear — it represents freedom, the freedom to dream, the freedom to invent entire worlds out of sheer imagination. As the French philosopher Gaston Bachelard wrote in The Poetics of Reverie, “How can one not dream while writing? It is the pen which dreams. The blank page gives the right to dream. If only one could write for himself alone.”8
When you’re in love with your characters, your idea, your story, the grand vision of the tale in your imagination, you’ll sit down to the blank page and write brilliantly. Revel in the freedom of the blank page. Love is the key. “There is no fear in love,” wrote St. John, “but perfect love drives out fear.”9
Be afraid and write anyway.
“It’s the job that’s never started as takes longest to finish,” said Samwise Gamgee (quoting his Old Gaffer) in J. R. R. Tolkien’s The Fellowship of the Ring. So accept your fear and get started. Go ahead and be afraid — but write anyway.
So you’re afraid of the blank page. So what? What can the blank page do to you? How can it hurt you? What do you have to lose by throwing some words — any words — onto that glowing screen, that blank page?
You can rearrange those words, play with them, do some word association, let one word lead to another, and before you know it, you’ll be writing. Your worst day of writing beats your best day of procrastinating, so you might as well write. As science fiction writer A. Lee Martinez observed, “Those who write are writers. Those who wait are waiters.”
It takes courage to be a writer. Not a lot of courage, not the kind of physical courage it takes to be a cop or a firefighter or a soldier. But it does take a certain kind of courage that is uncommon in the general population.
Anthony J. W. Benson, founder of Injoi Creative and Deeper Well Publishing, said, “Writers are a courageous lot. Often embattled by confusion, distraction and persistent dissatisfaction, they fight through pain, sweat and tears, as well as the unforgiving blinding glare of the blank page, to bring their thoughts forth.”10
Courage, of course, is not the absence of fear. Rather, it’s a determined, deliberate response to fear that says, “I’m afraid, but I won’t let my fear stop me or control me. By the force of my will, I will do the thing I fear.”
There are more than fourteen million copies of Jodi Picoult’s twenty novels in print. And here’s a fun fact: Did you know that Picoult also scripted five issues of DC Comics Wonder Woman in 2007? She has accomplished so much as a writer because she does not let fear of the blank page stop her from writing. “You might not write well every day,” she once said, “but you can always edit a bad page. You can’t edit a blank page.”
Writing is fun, but it’s also serious business. It’s important. It’s enduring. It’s art. Let’s not get pretentious about it, but writing is a creative endeavor. As Stephen King said, “You can approach the act of writing with nervousness, excitement, hopefulness, or even despair . . . [but] you must not come lightly to the blank page.”11
I don’t come lightly to this blog post. I come to it in an attitude of prayer. I come to it believing that the One who created the universe is also the One who ignites the spark of creativity within us all. I believe prayer is how we connect our creative human souls with the soul of the Creator.
Anne Lamott, in Bird by Bird, says she makes prayer her writing ritual as well as her spiritual discipline. Prayer gives her the courage to confront the blank page. “I sit for a moment,” she said, “and then say a small prayer — ‘please help me get out of the way so I can write what wants to be written.’ Sometimes ritual quiets the racket. Try it.”12
What should you pray for? Pray for courage, inspiration, and ideas. Pray for wisdom. Pray for an opening line. Pray for the determination and imagination to continue writing, even if a brilliant opening line doesn’t come to you.
Pray over your words — then get down to business. Relax — then get to work. Face your fear — then write from your courage.
Melissa Crawley, Mr. Sorkin Goes to Washington: Shaping the President on Television’s The West Wing (Jefferson, NC: McFarland & Co., 2006), 61.
Gene H. Bell-Villada, ed., Conversations With Gabriel García Márquez (Jackson MS: University Press of Mississippi, 2006), 147.
John Steinbeck, Journal of a Novel: The East of Eden Letters (New York: Penguin, 1990), Kindle edition, Entry for February 13, 1951.
Dante Alighieri, Vita Nuova (1295), in The Portable Dante (New York: Penguin, 2003), 610.
Dorothea Brande, Becoming a Writer (New York: Tarcher, 1981), 142.
Erica Jong, What Do Women Want? Essays by Erica Jong (New York: Tarcher, 2007), 62.
by Jim Denney, author of Walt’s Disneyland and Writing in Overdrive “Walt Disney was more important than all the politicians we’ve ever had. They pretended optimism. He was optimism. He has done more to change the world for the good than almost any politician who … Continue reading Walt Disney Made Me A Better Writer
A conversation with romance novelist Robin Lee Hatcher
by Jim Denney
Robin Lee Hatcher is the best-selling author of more than seventy-five novels and novellas featuring emotionally charged stories of love, faith, and courage. She has won a shelf full of awards, including the prestigious Romance Writers of America’s RITA® Award for excellence in romance fiction. She has been an eleven-time RITA finalist and has won the award twice. She has also won the RWA’s Lifetime Achievement Award. the American Christian Fiction Writers’ Lifetime Achievement Award, the Christy Award, and ACFW’s Carol Award.
I’ve known Robin for a number of years, and when I learned how she approached the writing process, I asked if she would let me share her creative approach with my readers at Writing in Overdrive. I always like to find out how writers are drawn to a life of storytelling.
Some people divide writers into two camps — (1) those who plot out an outline of their story before they begin writing (usually called “outliners” or “plotters”), and (2) those who “write by the seat of their pants.” Non-outliners are often referred to as “pantsers” — an inelegant term, in my view. I prefer the term “cliff-jumper,” derived from Ray Bradbury’s advice to writers, “You’ve got to jump off the cliff and build your wings on the way down.” In other words, don’t outline — just leap off the cliff and into your story and you’ll discover your characters and your plot along the way.
Now, I’m not saying that cliff-jumping is the only way to write. Outlining (sometimes called “pre-writing”) is a perfectly legitimate approach the creative process. J. K. Rowling, J. R. R. Tolkien, William Faulkner, Joseph Heller, Kurt Vonnegut, John Grisham, Jennifer Egan, Norman Mailer, and James Scott Bell are some well-known outliners.
Everybody is wired differently, so do whatever works for you. The problem is that a lot of cliff-jumpers have been told they are “doing it wrong” if they don’t outline. If you’re a natural-born cliff-jumper, you’re in excellent company. Madeleine L’Engle, Ernest Hemingway, Ray Bradbury, Theodore Sturgeon, John Steinbeck, Margaret Atwood, Colleen Coble, Stephen King and Robin Lee Hatcher are all cliff-jumpers. Some writers — Piers Anthony, for example — are a hybrid, doing a lot of cliff-jumping within a loosely structured outline. So if you either can’t outline or you don’t want to outline, you’re in good company.
How did Robin Lee Hatcher become a writer? She didn’t always dream of becoming a writer, even though she was a avid reader. In fact, she says she went to her first day of first grade with a single goal: learn to read. She completed her first day of school and still didn’t know how to read, so she told her mother there was no point in going back the next day. But her mother sent her back to school, and she eventually learned to read — and write.
She loved drama and storytelling, and she dreamed of being a movie star. When she was in the fifth grade, she made up a story about her mother, claiming her mom had moved west in a covered wagon along the Oregon Trail. As a consequence, her mother instructed her in the difference between fiction and fibbing.
In her twenties, inspired by Margaret Mitchell’s Gone with the Wind, Robin got an idea for an epic romance story. She talked about the story with friends, and finally realized that books only get written by writing them down, not by talking about them. She wrote her first novel in longhand on yellow legal pads, then typed it up during lunch breaks on an IBM Selectric typewriter at work. It took her nine months to write it, then another two-plus years to get it published.
More than seventy-five books later, Robin Lee Hatcher is still making up intriguing stories and selling them to an eager public. She recently told me about her creative process.
Q: As a writer, you are what some would call a “pantser” — or what I would call, borrowing Ray Bradbury’s term, a “cliff-jumper.”
Robin Lee Hatcher: That’s right. I really like that term “cliff-jumper.” It’s a good description of my writing process. I do not outline. I do not use a storyboard or sticky notes or Scrivener’s cork board. Rarely do I go back and rework anything I’ve written while I’m in first draft. I keep writing forward. If I need to find an answer to a question, I stop and research, then keep going.
Q: How much planning goes into your characters before you begin? Do you know your characters well before you start writing, or do you get to know them as the story develops?
Robin Lee Hatcher: I write first-person autobiographies of my major characters from birth to when the novel opens. This enables me to understand their backgrounds and motivations. I know where they hurt. I know what they want. I have a good idea which characters will come into conflict with each other, and why. Then I write them in a stream-of-consciousness style. I just let my imagination take wing. My stories are totally character-driven, not plot-driven. The plot is simply what emerges from the interaction of the characters.
Q: Your approach is a great illustration of what Bradbury meant when he said, “Plot is no more than footprints left in the snow after your characters have run by on their way to incredible destinations.” What about your setting? Certainly you need to know where your story takes place before you begin to write.
Robin Lee Hatcher: To an extent. I usually have an idea of my setting, but it’s rarely very concrete. The setting tends to come to life as I write. Almost all of my settings are fictional towns. I know the reality of where they are set but the towns are laid out in ways that best serve my stories. When I begin a novel, I know my main characters, the opening scene, and I have a vague idea of where I am headed. That’s all I need to begin writing.
Q: Have you ever tried outlining?
Robin Lee Hatcher: Yes. I learned that it just doesn’t work for me.
Q: Why not?
Robin Lee Hatcher: Writing for me is all about discovering the story. When I tried to outline the story in advance, I realized that I no longer wanted to write the book because I already knew how it was going to end. Why write it once I know that? Knowing everything about my story in advance only dampened my enthusiasm for writing it down. It made me anxious to set it aside and move on to a new idea.
Writing without an outline, I get up and go to my computer every morning so that I can discover what happens next. I’m just like my readers in that regard. They read my books to find out what happens next, and that’s why I write them. The deeper I write into the story, the better I understand the story, and the more I know what will happen next.
Q: E. L. Doctorow said about writing, “It’s like driving a car at night. You never see further than your headlights, but you can make the whole trip that way.” Is that an apt description of how your creative process feels? And isn’t it a bit scary?
Robin Lee Hatcher: Yes, writing for me is a lot like driving at night on a deserted highway. My imagination serves as a set of headlights, providing enough light each day to keep me on the road. Are there twists and turns ahead? Is it scary not knowing what’s out there in the dark? Yes, a bit. But it’s also exciting. All the answers to my story are out there, beyond the range of the headlights.
Q: Have you ever wished you could be an outliner instead of a cliff-jumper?
Robin Lee Hatcher: Yes, there was a time when I thought it would make the writing process much easier if I could pre-write the novel, then breeze through the actual writing. One time, years ago, I was at a conference. As I talked to different writers about the workshops they were attending, it occurred to me that all the character-driven novelists were attending the plotting workshops and all of the plot-driven novelists were attending workshops on characterization. Why were they doing that? Were they trying to improve their craft and sharpen their writing skills? Yes. But more than that, I think that, whether they realized it or not, they were also looking for an easier way to write a novel.
When I came to that realization, I quit feeling guilty about not being a plotter. I decided to embrace the way God made me to write. This how my brain works, and I’m good with that. I don’t need to change. Cliff-jumping works for me. There is such freedom in getting to the point where you accept that this is who you are as a writer. If you can only write a novel by driving in the dark without a roadmap, that’s fine. If you need to outline your plot before you begin, that’s fine, too.
The truth is, there’s no easy way to write a novel. It’s hard work, whether you’re a cliff-jumper or an outliner. With study and practice, some aspects of writing become easier and more natural, but it’s still hard work. In some ways it becomes even harder, because as we increase our confidence and our skill-level, we want to challenge ourselves more and stretch ourselves in new directions.
Of course, I had to try everything early on in my writing career. I tried the plot-motivation-whatever chart. I tried outlining a novel from start to finish. I’ve read tons of how-to books with all kinds of tips and tricks and I’ve tried most of the suggestions I came across. And in all of that reading and experimenting, I’ve discovered what works for me and what doesn’t.
Q: You said that you don’t use Scrivener—
Robin Lee Hatcher: Well, I don’t use Scrivener’s cork board feature, but Scrivener is a very powerful and useful tool for writers. I do use it. I love the character pages in Scrivener. I love the way you can add photos and details and insights about your characters as you go along. So I enjoy using Scrivener, but I don’t use it for outlining. I use it to make my creative process flow more freely.
Q: One thing I talk about a lot on the Writing in Overdrive website is the power of the unconscious mind to enable us to write faster and to be more creative and uninhibited. What role does the unconscious mind play in your creative process?
Robin Lee Hatcher: I’m convinced that much of my writing happens in my unconscious before I’m ever aware of it. Sometimes the writing even happens while I sleep. I don’t mean that I get plot ideas from dreams — although I have actually dreamt some scenes. I mean that, somewhere below the surface of my awareness, my brain is working on the story. So while it sounds like I just wing it, there’s an unconscious creative process going on that I’m not aware of. That process is working out interactions between characters, exploring plot possibilities, and making intuitive leaps that my conscious mind would never think of.
Q: This is a phenomenon many writers observe during the writing process. Ursula Le Guin said, “I allow my unconscious mind to control the course of the story, using rational thought only to reality check when revising.” And Anne Lamott talked about the need to align ourselves with “the river of the story, the river of the unconscious.”
Robin Lee Hatcher: Exactly! During every writing session, there are probably two or three things that emerge — ideas, insights, connections, entire scenes — that I wasn’t consciously aware of at the start, but at some unconscious level my brain was working on the story. When I’m writing, these ideas come to the surface. We think it comes out of nowhere and we call it “inspiration,” but I think it often comes from our God-given unconscious self. And, of course, God works through us and inspires us when we are open to him and listening to him.
That’s why it’s so important to show up for work every day. We won’t receive our daily allotment of inspiration until we sit down, place our fingers on the keyboard, and discover what our unconscious creativity has been working on.
Q: Robin, the words rewriting and revising are sometimes used interchangeably, but technically they are not the same thing. Rewriting is more drastic, and usually involves major restructuring, such as adding or deleting an entire subplot or character arc, inserting new scenes, or removing scenes that detract from the storyline. Revising is essentially buffing and polishing and perfecting a novel that is structurally sound. Do you find that writing without an outline is an advantage or a disadvantage when it comes to rewriting or revising your first draft?
Robin Lee Hatcher: I don’t think my creative process gives me an advantage or a disadvantage. Both outliners and cliff-jumpers need to revise. I don’t generally have to do major rewrites, but they have happened on occasion. Most of the time, however, when I finish a first draft, I do a proof and polish, then turn it in. I’ve been tweaking and polishing throughout the first draft, so it is usually in good shape.
Because most of my books are romances, I begin with a hero and heroine and I know their history, their lives leading up to the story. For instance, with my latest novel, I know that Jessica is a pregnant widow whose husband cheated on her and he died in a car wreck just after telling her he was leaving her for another woman. And I know that Ridley is a tech guy who got involved in a political scandal for which he was blamed. Both are trying to hide from life and keep people from knowing who they really are. Ridley goes to Jessica’s small town and becomes her neighbor. Their romance begins.
Now, because it’s a romance, we know that the two of them will get together at the end. So I just start writing toward that moment when they get their Happily Ever After. Sometimes I have a glimmer of an idea as to how they will get there, but I usually don’t. I’m driving in the dark.
My first drafts tend to be pithy and concise, so my revisions usually involve fleshing out the scenes I’ve written to make them longer, more emotionally involving. As a romance writer, revisions usually involve going deeper into my characters’ emotions.
Q: I think many outliners have a more adventurous, cliff-jumping spirit than they realize. I’ve known many writers, myself included, who started out with an outline, then wrote and wrote without even looking at the outline. By the time the book was written, it was a very different story than the one in the outline. Along the way, outliners generally discover depths to their story they never imagined at the outset. They discover new characters, new plot twists, and often come up with a completely new ending.
Robin Lee Hatcher: I agree. I don’t think plotters are slaves to their outlines. I’m sure they are constantly tweaking and refining their ideas as they write, whether in broad ways or subtle ways. The book they planned and the book they wrote are often very different from each other. An outline doesn’t have to be a straight-jacket. If you’re a plotter, then your outline is your roadmap. But if, along your journey, you stumble onto a road that isn’t on the map, you’re perfectly free to explore it.
No outlining writer should ever tell a cliff-jumping writer, “You’re doing it wrong.” Or vice versa. A plotter feels more freedom with an outline to follow. A cliff-jumper feels more freedom without an outline. That’s great! Whatever works for you, do that. Enjoy your freedom to create.
Q: That’s great advice for any writer. Thank you, Robin, for sharing your experiences and insights.
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!