So over at Seven Imps, Jules posts:
At the Southern Festival of Books a couple weeks ago here in Nashville, I heard author/illustrator/novelist Rosemary Wells speak briefly. She said — and I quote this exactly — "process doesn’t exist. Any good writer will tell you that." What say you, authors?
Now, you may find my response shocking, what with the process questions and the write porn around these parts and all. But here’s what I said over there in the comments:
Oh, I definitely agree with her! The reason I’m so fascinated to "talk process" is because I think it’s all lies — seriously, I think we all make up our processes as we go along, and that we probably aren’t even right about what we think they are. Plus, there’s the not wanting to embarrass one’s self when discussing such things. I mean, honestly, so much of it is just thinking, wandering around, taking things in and reforming them into something else. Life is the real process, right?
Still, sometimes what we perceive as the process of creating any given thing can be illuminating, and it’s always an interesting procrastination tool.
I suspect process is just another story we tell ourselves. Thoughts?
Now back to the actual process of TYPING.
Updated: Okay, so I was a bit flip yesterday — I didn’t actually mean it’s all lies. And, besides, note the probably(s) and things in there. Sometimes I forget that this is not actually a window into my brain and so if I don’t frame the whole thing, there is no context. Here’s a bit of a clarification from the comments, which only convinces me I should have made this the longer, more fleshed out post about process I’ve been wanting to do:
Oh, I’m definitely _not_ saying that none of it can be described, that the _entire_ way we say we work is a fiction. That’s not it at all. And I’m using process in the (yucky arty term alert) "creative process," sense, which is larger than habit.
What I’m saying, I suppose, is that the magic is _part_ of the process, and so we can only describe the most mundane aspects of it? So someone saying they sit down for two hours every day and write for 500 words describes something (and definitely captures _part_ of the process), an action that either happens or doesn’t, but it doesn’t say anything about the rest. Or about the six months in which not a word was written immediately before that. 🙂
And, Dave, yes, yes — all I’m saying is that most quantifications of this stuff are missing a lot at best. For instance, if you answer a question for me about your process today, you give me an answer and it’s "true." But how about when your biographers dig that out fifty years from now — was that your process? Because often what a writer said at one certain time gets reprinted a million times and this one’s a moving target for most of us, I suspect.
We want to be more in control of it than we are.
And I will add that the big revelation in terms of my own "process" this year was the discovery that I basically have to write every section of my novel about four times, to get anywhere approaching something I’m happy enough with to move on to the next bit. Honestly, the four times thing is probably inaccurate, but it feels right, to Dave’s point below. (And the flip one I was making yesterday.) At any rate, the reason why this was a big revelation is that it staves off the utter despair that comes during the third revision, when the chapters still aren’t right and I don’t know why. The next novel will probably be entirely different.
Oh yeah, absolutely. I think process is idiosyncratic, and it can be different for the same author working on a different book. And I love the idea of describing one’s process as a narrative–a making sense of the chaotic act of writing a book.
Cheers!
I used to spend a lot of time trying to figure out what my process was and how to improve it. I’ve recently realized that my process changes with every book. So now, I’ve basically boiled it down to two elements: 1)avoid writing things that suck 2) write more things that don’t suck. I think it’s working.
I dunno. I think any good writer will tell you that any generalization about anything–even to say there is no such thing as process–is false. It’s certainly a good way to get out of talking about why we do things the way we do! It also depends on what we mean by “process”, and how it is different from “habit”.
Life is where the work comes from, not the process. Or lack of process. Being receptive to the world is just a given of being a writer, I think.
JeffV
Yeah, that’s pretty much exactly what I’m saying. I don’t think we writers can be trusted to be objective about our processes though — we make too much shit up. 🙂
It connects to what Jeff Ford has said, to me, about not feeling like it’s his conscious self so much that makes the work — how can we know what our processes are? I mean, other than being alive. I’m constantly surprising myself (in both good and bad ways). I could say how often I work and how I think about the work and how I research it, but does that really tell anybody anything? It’s fun to read though. At least, I like other people’s stories of the wilderness.
Oh and yes, Lauren and Sarah, definitely.
And another p.s. to Jeff… I don’t think many of us have any idea why we do the things we do (other than they work or don’t work). That’s sort of at the heart of why I think what’s interesting about the way people talk about working isn’t whether what they say is true, but what they say they do. It’s an edited version, by necessity.
Anyway, doesn’t most of the current brain research suggest we’re only aware of many decisions after our minds and bodies have made them? (Ted, I know you’ll correct me if I’m wrong!)
Just because something’s “just a story” doesn’t mean it isn’t real.
Of course we have process, i.e. a systematic series of actions directed to some end. We sit down (or lie down, or lean on the kitchen counter), we write, we revise. That’s process. The rest is magic.
Oh, I’m definitely _not_ saying that none of it can be described, that the _entire_ way we say we work is a fiction. That’s not it at all. And I’m using process in the (yucky arty term alert) “creative process,” sense, which is larger than habit.
What I’m saying, I suppose, is that the magic is _part_ of the process, and so we can only describe the most mundane aspects of it? So someone saying they sit down for two hours every day and write for 500 words describes something (and definitely captures _part_ of the process), an action that either happens or doesn’t, but it doesn’t say anything about the rest. Or about the six months in which not a word was written immediately before that. 🙂
And, Dave, yes, yes — all I’m saying is that most quantifications of this stuff are missing a lot at best. For instance, if you answer a question for me about your process today, you give me an answer and it’s “true.” But how about when your biographers dig that out fifty years from now — was that your process? Because often what a writer said at one certain time gets reprinted a million times and this one’s a moving target for most of us, I suspect.
We want to be more in control of it than we are.
Gwenda, I can only use the word “process” as a kind of obscene joke. I don’t think we can usefully break down art into a mechanical equation. There again, I believe formal constraint can be useful for some writers, whether we’re talking literary structure (3-act play, a villanelle) daily timetable (get up, futz email, have breakfast, comb through yesterday’s writing, go for a walk, write the first sentence of new stuff, have lunch, write for three hours). That’s part of the craft. The rest is magic: art. For me it changes with every project, and then during different phases of said project. But I recognise it with a shiver of dread and joy, and then project is no longer work, but delight. Probably not helpful…
Nope, it makes perfect sense. I think that’s how it should be — and how it usually is. xxx 🙂