A road in SE4, October 2013
I heard Zadie Smith on Desert Island Discs the other weekend. I was particularly interested in what she said about her writing process, the way she invariably begins a novel by composing an opening scene and then going over and over that scene, deepening it, rewriting it, altering it, until finally the rest of the novel begins to fill itself in behind it.
I always find it reassuring to hear from writers who tend towards the method-in-the-madness approach to their work, rather than the rigorous plotting, can’t-begin-until-you-know-exactly-what’s-happening-in-every-chapter approach employed by others, if only because I myself remain an unreformed adherent of the write-it-and-see philosophy. I remember when I first began writing seriously, feeling daunted and inadequate in the face of all those instruction manuals that stressed the importance of detailed chapter breakdowns and character outlines. I could see the logic, but something about it didn’t seem right to me, or better, feel right for me. The epiphany came when I read Stephen King’s inimitable work manual, or toolbox, as he likes to call it, On Writing – if you’re only ever going to read one how-to book in your life, please make it this one. King writes about how he doesn’t so much plot a book as discover it – he likens the process to the work of an archaeologist excavating a fossil – that he doesn’t so much think about chapter progression as begin writing about his characters and seeing what happens to them. Reading this, I felt like jumping in the air and making a whooping noise. If King says this is an OK way to do it, then it must be, I thought. It was like being released from a cage.
Those who know me best will confirm that I’m almost pathologically routine-led when it comes to the outline mechanics of being a writer. I have to be writing, and if I don’t get that time at my desk I soon start to feel anxious, but when it comes to the work I actually do at my desk, I must sometimes appear to be the opposite of organized. As a writer, I am an inveterate discarder – I have several 30,000-word-plus sections of stymied novels on my hard drive, together with dozens of rag-ends and offcuts of stories I’ve begun to write and then found myself – for whatever reason – too dissatisfied with to feel they’re worth fighting for. At least for now.
As it turns out, these past few months have been all about discarding stuff. I’ve written a lot of words, but it’s often felt like writing in circles. You know that feeling of turning a roll of Sellotape round and round between your hands, trying to find the tag end so you can actually tear off some damn’ tape? Like that. I’ve got a whole file of notes and false starts on a book I now know won’t be this book, it’ll be the next book, which is good, I suppose, and exciting in its way (I love that book already and it doesn’t exist yet!) but still frustrating when it’s this book you’re trying to get a start on.
Well, earlier this week I finally did a King and just launched into it. I set aside all the outlines and bits-of-draft – so seductive when they include passages you feel wedded to, they can end up acting as millstones about the neck, dragging you down – and began again, right at the beginning, with a character I knew was central but had put off writing about because it ‘wasn’t time yet.’
Well actually it is time. Actually, it’s her book. So let’s stop fannying about and get on with it.
Thanks again, Steve.
