Two writers' Q&As: Moving on to write the next story? or Re-write the story at hand?
Recently I had a conversation with a “new” writer. This person was a grade-school teacher for many years, and has done all sorts of writing throughout her life and career. Now she is writing purely for pleasure. Hearing her talk about how she’d rather not do the polishing and re-writing thing, how she’d rather go on to write another piece, made me full-on pause.
But there’s that phrase: purely for pleasure.
I’m a writer who actively publishes (which means extensive re-vision) and in my former life has advised a number of program-completing theses; for many reasons, I’ve taken on those words about “writing IS re-writing.”
Except when it’s not.
Always I need to unpack my thinking about things. And again come to know that what might be “right” for me, and even for some others, isn’t “right” for all.
I had another conversation with yet another writer, who brought up the thought of “time,” and how—when in the third third of one’s life—“time” becomes a Thing, and the question can be “do I have time for this?”
Maybe these two are connected. Or not. Young writers can have the same question or urge about this, too.
Reasons to re-vision a work
Let’s set aside “possible publication” on this. That’s obvious, and I wax on about that in other posts. So, other reasons to re-envision, to re-write.
—go deeper
I write in order to know what I think. But many writers are much more efficient with this, and think through thoroughly, then write. Which means that a so-called first draft can be quite different for them.
With each draft, I’m not just polishing; I don’t expect to arrive at the “polishing” phase until later. With early drafts, I’m thinking further and digging.
The ease of the computer has changed how we do this, too. I worked on a typewriter for the first decade I was writing, and “drafts” were different then. Labourious, comes to mind. (So do memories of hands blackened from carbon paper!)
—you have more to learn from a re-write
This learning-piece is not always about content and exploring subject matter, but about the writing itself. And the process of writing. Structure, style, voice. You may want to experiment with new or different ways to express. It might feel like hard-play, not work. Looking for immersion in the project, and deeper flow.
Maybe you have a a writing group or you are learning how to “critique” yourself —which usually means learning which questions to ask. I’ll put links here to a couple of archived posts that might be useful for this purpose. For that voice to grow, listen to it, work with it.
See below these two links for the rest of this post —
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A Checklist For Novel Beginnings - Foundational series, part 6
In many ways, talking about chapter one of a novel is hardly “new writer” material. But if you’re writing your first novel, it is. So here it is, in the “Foundational” series. I think this is timely for January, too, as this is the time of year so many start new projects.
"The End Remembers the Beginning"
Sunday a.m., view from van window, Bryce Canyon campsite “The End remembers the Beginning.” A quote from Uri Shulevitz’s wonderful book about creating picturebooks, WRITING WITH PICTURES. It’s a simple enough idea that I’ve taken to heart, not only for works for the youngest readers, but for all projects, from book reviews to novels and memoir.
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Reasons to change direction and write an entirely new piece
There are times when a thing is simply done. As done as needs be. A piece, a story, a poem, might be “complete.”
You might think of this—possibly—as journal writing; you don’t re-write journal entries. Yet these are stories-of-your-day, not re-touched, and you move on to the next.
It might have taken a week or months. But you know it’s time to move on.
—you have more to learn from moving on to the next project!
Yes, this is the flip-side of the above. Or is it so different? Note that above I speak to this not being about content, but about process, structure, style, voice. Those are all issues of “form,” not content. All pieces you can learn from moving on to new works with new approaches. Or new works with similar approaches. Maybe it’s the approach or voice or something else you are working on, and the way to practice that IS to move on with new content, and practice the writing itself.
—time
The sense or urge that you don’t have time to write all the pieces you’d like to is real! Allow yourself to listen to such urges; if you develop a habit of tuning out urges, they’ll go away. They will! Do this often enough, and you might find yourself like a kid sitting at the dinner table, long after everyone’s left, pushing the mashed potatoes around in circles on your plate, wondering what’s next, when is dessert going to show up…
If your gut says to move on to the next piece, do that. Welcome the news. There’s no point in poking away at an ageing story if your heart is no longer in it.
—flow
I use the word “flow” above, about immersion in a project. But maybe there’s a type of flow you feel when first-drafting, and in further drafts that lightness-of-touch disappears. Maybe it’s that type of “flow” you’re wanting in this pastime and preoccupation we call writing.
One note of caution about moving from project to project
When I return to projects for a re-write, I try for a completion of each draft before going on to next story.
It’s worrisome when writers find themselves moving on from one project to the next, and leaving them incomplete. Though that said, there are projects that are just not finished for any number of reasons.
Here, I’m talking about habitually leaving works unfinished; there is much to be learned from completion—from creating beginning/middle/end. Too, there’s the growing confidence that comes with writing “The end.” Whether or not you choose to re-write, try to get there.
Then go on to the next.
Reasons not to listen to anyone!
The Tao says to “fully embrace your life” (#32) which I read as “going with the grain.” Which means acceptance.
Acceptance is a way to navigate not only life, but creating. You accept the work and stories that life hands you—and it does—you work with them, you move on.
This is your life, your stories. To do with as you wish.
“Going with the grain” means listening and understanding your gut.
The photo
Why did I chose this photo?
Do you ever try to “match” an image with something you’re writing about? It can be interesting. Often I type in some word or words, and up comes what I had in mind. But I had nothing in mind for an image for this topic. Can’t remember what I typed in when this popped up.
The sense of being utterly in the moment comes through this image. And I knew when I saw it, that that’s what I wanted to convey.
Regardless of pausing with one story, or moving on to the next, there has to be that (desirable) state of not being anywhere else in your work.
Revisit the phrase:
Writing purely for pleasure.
Where are you with this idea of pleasure in this work we do?
Email alison@alisonacheson.com with your writing and/or publishing questions. Or leave in “comments.”
When I write fiction and poetry it is purely for pleasure. Both forms allow me to write in an unfiltered way, as I am in the cinema of my mind. I do go back and laboriously add the required scenic details that other readers need. I've recently switched to allowing dialogue free rein. It's less frustrating for sketching in a scene and recognizing the beats. For me writing blogs are like piano practice. Essential to remaining strong yet limber.
For me, there is a difference between writing the first draft and subsequent revisions. The first draft feels the most like "writing" to me. That said, I spend one-third of my time on a book writing the first draft and two-thirds revising it. The revision process is, in some ways, kind of peaceful -- until you reach the last two or three revisions, where it then can become tedious, to say the least.