One of the key writing skills I’ve learned in the last year or so is how to incorporate scenes I’ve already written as I write.
Yes, I’ve been a professional writer, almost exclusively full-time, for thirty-five years now. And I’m still learning important new skills. I have not served my craft well all the time, nor in all ways. One thing I have done, and am proud of, is that on almost all of those nearly thirteen thousand days I have tried deliberately to improve my writing.
Inspiration doesn’t always strike neatly and consequentially. For years perhaps my number one rule for how I write is: Always honor inspiration. Whenever possible, that is; for example driving down the freeway at 75 miles an hour is not a propitious time to start scribbling down a scene, no matter how awesome it is. Writing only counts if you get it permanently recorded before winding up a flaming mass of wreckage. Important tip there, youngsters!
The result of the apparently random nature of inspiration is that I wind up writing down a lot of scenes and sequences that aren’t what happens next. I also sometimes generate character sketches or scenes for projects entirely different than the one I’m currently writing; essentially the same rules apply.
The problem for many years was once I caught up with those already-written scenes, I had trouble making use of them. I’d forget where they were; or forget that I’d written them. So I’d wind up doing the same scene twice or sometimes more.
Then I’d agonize over which one to use. Now, if you’ve followed my posts here about my own writing, you know that when I agonize about getting it right, I am in deep, deep mud. It just never ends well.
And then, during the general shake-up and frankly remarkable (to me; YMMV) improvement of my writing skills and habits that began about this time last year, I figured it out. And now when I write a scene out of order, I’m almost always ready to just cut and paste it into place. Sometimes with a little trimming and fitting – which, candidly, I probably shouldn’t do, given the habit I’m trying to ingrain of just writing. But one thing I’ve also learned in the last few years has been that incremental improvement is improvement.
Trying to get everything perfect now – and, of course, flagelalting myself when I don’t – is one of my most effective tools to fail.
So now you’re likely asking yourself, “What’s in this for me?” What can you take away from this that might help you improve your writing?
Well, first, no matter what craft you pursue, if you’re serious about it, that entails constantly and eternally striving to improve. Why the long face? That’s good news. You will never, should our life spans be extended to 10,000 years, completely master any craft worth pursuing. So: you need never get bored!
Second, the Second Iron Law of Writing is that One Size Never Fits All. What works for me may not work for you at all. It may not even work for me all the time, as I’ve learned to my frustration. If it seems useful, try it. If it doesn’t serve you, toss it aside. There is no right way to write, other than to write.
And at last the pay-off … why, yes,I have been stalling. That’s because I’m not altogether sure why, after years of trying, I suddenly got it all worked out in the last few months. But here’s what I can tell you.
I keep better track of my out-of-sequence scenes. Sometimes I keep a separate file for them, although sometimes, for some reason, that fact still drops out of my mind. What I seem to do most often nowadays is hit Enter a few times and just write ‘em at the end of the chapter, or story, I’m working on. Then when I catch up to them they’re right handy.
Also, I keep better track of the fact I’ve done them, and what they roughly consist of, as well as where the scenes are. Part of this I suppose is simply mindfulness. Another factor is that I have started – again, in about the last year – reviewing what I’ve already written more frequently. If I’m just starting a chapter at the beginning of a given day – which usually means I’ve only got a sentence or two of it written, since I always try to finish a day’s writing by beginning the next scene – I’ll review the last scene of the previous chapter. If I’m in the midst of a chapter, I read over what went before.
The reason I didn’t do this before was also simple: I used to hate to reread my stuff. I was always convinced it was inadequate. As to how I’ve fixed that: well, I haven’t. Not all the way, sadly. But I’ve mitigated it.
I also, when I’m reviewing what I’ve written prior to picking up again, often check out the pre-written scenes so I’m fresh on what I’ve got and, roughly, where it’ll fit.
I hope that helps you. Or at the least, interested you.
And as always, the First Iron Law of Writing is that Writers Write. (The Third Iron Law of Writing, if you’re interested, is that There Are Only Two Iron Laws of Writing.)
To the best of my knowledge and belief, that applies with equal force to any craft.
So if you’re drawn to any form of making – which is what I deem any creative activity, whether machining or ballet dancing, to be – then go forth and make. It’s the only way.
And success to you!
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I’d always assumed the third iron law of writing is that writers read. Well, maybe it’s not an iron law.
It’s a good law. It’s definitely true. Since I’m unreasonably attached to my own Iron Law structure, I propose to categorize it as a corollary. Thus:
The First Iron Law of Writing: Writers write.
First Corollary: Writers read.
Of course, you can make up your own list of Iron Laws if you want to. This one’s just mine, reflecting my observations, experiences, perspectives, and crotchets.
Consider me a fledgling writer. Along with a close friend, I am in the process of birthing a new sci-fi / sci-fa trilogy. I am the first to admit that I read very little, though when I research certain subjects, I often find that there are many similar senarios already out there.
It would be interesting to know how an experianced writer handles the dull thud of the guillotine as it disect’s what was, for a brief moment, a wonderful piece of original thought. Perhaps there is an Iron Law for this problem? Perhaps it is proof that a writer must read.
Good point.
On reflection I suspect Terry’s right, and I should promote Writers Read to an Iron Law.
And maybe not. (Dither mode.) I’m reluctant to add too many Iron Laws. One of my main points in propagating the Laws is that there are damned few absolutes, and anyone who says you must write this way or that way is full of crap.
I don’t feel strongly compelled (and by strongly, I mean at all) to follow the State of the Art in SF & F. Yet I do feel that without a strong grounding in the body of writing, old and new, that’s out there, it’s hard to write a worthy contribution to the genre. I think this is one of the cardinal sins, if not the cardinal sin, of way too many TV and film scriptwriters: they’re too arrogant, at core, to read in the genre (if at all), so they make the same mistakes fans were laughing at by the Fifties and Sixties.
Most writers I know of any degree of success or proficiency are compulsive readers, or next to it. I am. I admit find it hard to understand people who don’t read, which is not the same as condemning them.
On reflection I do feel comfortable saying that those who don’t read – not just SF & F, but other genres, as well as non-fiction – are trying to climb a sleep and slippery slope while pulling a schoolbus full of fat kids.
And that said one long-term vice of mine, and many writers, is to live too much in the realm of books or other forms of the written word. Life’s all about achieving a dynamic equilibrium, as opposed to static balance. Which is why I’m a Daoist.
So, yeah. By all means read. In fact, if you don’t enjoy reading. why write? It’s easier to make a decent living as a welder.
That said, if you still want to write (which you actually could do even if you chose to become a welder, although you might not be able to tell from looking at welders) I encourage you to do so. And accordingly I encourage you to read.
So for now, at least:
Writers Read: It May Not Be the Law, But It’s a Damn Good Idea!
hi ya Vic!
I must argue that it is an Iron Law that Writers Read.
I remember once Roger talking about being a writer – a panel at some dimly recalled convention – and he was passionate about the fact that writers needed to read for information and inspiration, that the deluge of words and thoughts and stories and facts pouring over the mind of a writer were as important as the words pouring out of the writer – then he listed a handful of books he was reading at the time that ranged across genres and centuries, fiction, memoirs, biographies,non-fiction, plus magazines ranging from the SF lit mags to Scientific American he subscribed to and read faithfully.
I’ve been around writers most of my life – from Uncle Pat to my Dad (although both wrote about their participation of the business of government and all its permutations) to so many friends of my adult life and the one constant of all these people is that they had piles of books, stacks of magazines, full binders of government reports on esoteric influences on the America meat packing industry, 19th C. travelogues of British aristocracy wandering their Empire’s farthest reaches, whatever appealed to them for work or joy, or just because, hey, they’d never read about fur-trapping in the Great Lakes before, all stuffed to the rafters in whatever living space they called their own, and were as likely to refer to the latest discussion of post-colonial Africa in the Economist as they were to bring up The Great Gatsby or Asimov’s Foundation.
I’ve never, ever been to a writer’s residence where the books were confined to a tidy bookcase or two.
Writers Read. Writers Write.
With those two rules, a person can go a long way in forming a suscessful approach to the work of writing.
Hi back, Parris! Good to see you here. Thanks for commenting.
You raise excellent points. As someone who arguably spends and has spent too much time living in books (it’s certainly been argued) I’m the last person to discourage writers from reading. Or anyone else. I really do have trouble comprehending what it would be like to live without reading. Not something I care to try.
My intent with my grandiosely-named Iron Laws is half humorous and entirely serious. I’ve run into so many people who try to wind writers about with all kinds of rules and dictates; to me that discourages people from writing. And is also just mistaken.
So the idea of Iron Rules is that there be as few of them as possible.
Writers write is to my mind definitional as well as tautological. It’s a statement of the obvious that many people in fact don’t find obvious. We’ve all run into people who declare themselves writers, and when asked what they’ve actually written, puff and stammer about the wonderful ideas they have, yes? They always annoy Hell out of me.
(It’s late and I’m only up because Emma Dog roused me from a sound sleep needing to go outside, so please forgive me if I wind up too rambly or sententious, here.)
To me writing is both the sine qua non of the craft (to whack the obvious around some more) and the foremost way to improve at it. I see that as the one thing aspirants need to know – and accomplished professionals sometimes need reminded of. Or is it just me, and not those other people?
Anyway, straggling back from my delightful circumnavigation of Robin Hood’s barn to whatever the Hell my alleged point was, I don’t see Writers read as an absolute. You’re right about the value of reading. And all the writers I know in person do operate the way the late, great, and dearly missed Roger Zelazny described in your example.
But I can conceive of a writer who writes well without reading. It’s no doubt a rare creature. It may in fact be purely imaginary, which you’re well aware is an occupational hazard. I still admit the possibility; whereas a writer who doesn’t write’s simply impossible.
So for now – and I confess I’m not set on this – in my entirely personal, capricious, and arbitrary canon, Writers write is not the law, it’s just a good idea.
Thanks!