Structure of the Writing Session

I like to begin writing by working on things that are already written, fixing sentences. Then I move on to writing new but complete sentences out of rougher notes. Finally, at the end of the writing session I brainstorm, writing down things that occur to me, new ideas, without worrying too much about where they might fit.

My logic is that the "warm-up" period is not very strenuous; I can tweak sentences that I wrote before without too much exertion. Writing new sentences is a bit harder. Once I'm warmed up I can do that. Toward the end of the session I don't have much to lose. I've already written enough for the day, so I don't have to worry about anything else.

This three part structure might vary. For example, a paper I have been working longer on will need fewer new ideas and more tweaking of sentences already written.

(Notice that this is a reverse order. You would think the logical order would be brainstorm, write, revise. What this means is that the same material I brainstorm today will be written later and then revised yet another day.)

Typically, I write between 1 and 3 hours. Hardly ever less than 1 or more than 3. 1 and a half is good; 2 and a quarter also.

21 or 45 hours

I've never been able to work night and day on project. I recommend a gap of 21 or 45 hours between writing sessions, between 12 noon one day and 9 the next morning, or between noon and nine a.m. two days from now. Writing, then, should be continual but not continuous, for those who observe the differentiation between those two adjectives. You need to write frequently, but with fresh eyes on your project at the beginning of every writing session.

I have to stop myself from writing even though I know I could produce more on a particular day, because I know from experience that I will be better on a fresh day. I try not to do much on the project between writing sessions, except to think about planning in the general sense (how many more days do I need?) or check a few books I need out of the library. Sometimes, a brilliant simplification will occur to me when I'm not writing or even thinking about my project.

A brilliant simplification means a way of eliminating unnecessary elements that are getting in your way. Sometimes being away from a project a week will help, because when you return to it you will ask, "Why am i even talking about this irrelevant and tangential issue?"

Front-loading

Joseph Williams, in Style: Toward Clarity and Grace, points out that you shouldn't have too many extra words or clauses before introducing the subject of the sentence. I had never really thought about this, but coincidentally I was reading prose by someone who frequently "front-loaded" sentences in just this way, to frustrating effect. The reader of English prose wants to get to the subject fast. "Nevertheless, wiith the support of the church, and despite the opposition of landowners who felt their interests threatened, agrarian refrom..." In this, my made-up example, you don't know what the church is supporting, what the topic of the sentence actually is, but you have to keep several elements in mind before you even know what the sentence is talking about.

Williams's book is a sensible one. I don't like everything about it, but I feel I can learn from any book of this kind, no matter how basic.

Self-Consciousness

During a recent writing session my attention was mostly focused on the writing itself. I wasn't monitoring how I felt, listening to either negative or positive voices in my head "You are stupid" "You are brilliant." The writing felt good, but I wasn't concentrating on my ego either positively or negatively. I was happy but in an unself-conscious way.

Positive focus on the ego or negative focus are both distractions. I can stop and admire myself for a sentence I just wrote without too much interruption, but that isn't the main point. Negative thoughts are worse, when they are about the self and not about the writing, because they interrupt more obnoxiously.

Notice the profound difference between "This sentence still doesn't say what I want it to say" and "I am inadequate; I will never finish this article." Both are "negative" thoughts, right? But the first is specific and productive (you can fix the sentence) and also detached from the ego. You wouldn't break into tears when you realized that a sentence didn't say exactly what you wanted it to. The latter is generalized (cannot be addressed in any way) and wholly unproductive.

So the SMT I derive from this is that your writing is not you. Its imperfections are not imperfections of your self, and its virtues are not virtues of you either. It is an exterior object on which you are working. The more you focus on it and not yourself, the better. If the ego distracts, either positively or negatively, put it back in its place. Feel pride in what you do, or as much anxiety as you want, but separate that from the real work of writing.

Effortlessness

It takes a lot of hard work to get to the point where you can write without too much extra effort. You might have a stake in keeping writing difficult for yourself, but you can allow yourself to give up the fetish of exertion for its own sake. It doesn't have to feel like work all the time. Think of it as being put into the game when you want to play, or being given a solo in the band.

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Imagine a sentence that you just can't get right. You've written it and re-written it and it still doesn't sound like it should. Is the solution more work, or less? What you probably need to do is re-write the sentence in a simpler form, making it sound like a sentence that was easy to write.

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A student "worked hard" on a paper that, nevertheless, still has a grammatical mistake in every sentence. As a reader, I don't really care about effort. If the house is still cold, it doesn't matter how much fuel was burnt to heat it. In fact, if the house is cold despite a huge expenditure of energy, then I have two problems: a cold house and a high gas bill.

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Obviously, there will still be times when exertion, or effort, are necessary. Difficulty, in fact, is part of the fun of what we do.

Inadequate, Tired, Stupid

According to Munger, the academic writer working hard enough should feel inadequate, tired, and stupid while writing. Let's break this down a bit.

(1) Inadequate. You shouldn't be writing from a place of incompetence. You have worked on your scholarly base and you are defending well-defined claims. Humility is all well and good, but without some faith in what you are affirming you won't be able to speak with authority.

(2) Tired. You will work better, write better, if you are well-rested. There is no point in fetishizing exhaustion. If after 2 hours you are tired, stop writing.

(3) Stupid. You might feel stupid because of something you are failing to understand. It's fine to feel frustrated by an intellectual challenge, but you have to know that you are smart enough to rise to it.

So no, none of these feelings is a sign that you are working productively. Inadequate, tired, and stupid is a good recipe for writer's block.

Why?

This article by Michael Munger gave me pause. Most of it is helpful, but his statement that

[w]hen you are actually writing, and working as hard as you should be if you want to succeed, you will feel inadequate, stupid, and tired. If you don't feel like that, then you aren't working hard enough.

seems very, very wrong to me. First of all, the stupid fetishization of "hard work." Writing has to feel bad to produce good results, according to this kind of thinking. Often, I feel more than fine when I am writing, full of energy rather than tired, adequate rather than inadequate, and even reasonably smart. I'm not denying that negative thoughts will often accompany writing, but these thoughts are not signs of virtue or hard work. They have no value in themselves.

Cultivate a confident, energetic but relaxed alertness while writing. Exercise your intelligence. Don't be afraid of feeling it. If you tell yourself writing has to be painful, chances are you will be right! Even if you end up writing well, your writing will feel crabby to your reader, just like a drummer with tense muscles is not likely to be playing "in the pocket." I've had highly productive writing sessions that felt almost effortless, where I've felt brilliant.

Do not confuse this idea of "feeling it" with waiting to feel good enough to write, or expecting to feel good invariably while writing. Tedium, frustration, and fatigue will make appearances sooner or later. Where I differ with Munger is that I don't believe they are signs that you are doing things right. I think of negative thoughts and emotions, rather, as signals telling you to make adjustments to your attitude, your work habits. In that sense, and that sense alone, they are valuable.

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Happy New Year. This post was published on 1/1/11 at 1:11 a.m.