Ppreviously, I began the discussion about the writing process, and in many ways it feels like quite an amorphous thing, even though it has very concrete factors. This is something that we all engage with, whether consciously or not. In many ways, being aware of one’s process feels like a fine line to tread. On the one hand, awareness of your process can help smooth your path as a writer. On the other hand, awareness to the point of self-consciousness can stymie your attempts to write.

Consciousness and self-consciousness aside for one moment, however, awareness of your process, learning about it and tailoring it to fit you and your needs is as important as learning about writing to improve your work is. But how does one do this? In my opinion, the easiest way to figure out what a writing process is, what yours is, and where to get ideas for new things to try is to look at the process of other writers. The key part here is to remember that everyone is different. What works well for one, may not work so well for another. Self-discovery is a journey, and we all take different paths. There is no right or wrong.

That said, here is mine.

My approach to writing is quite a relaxed one in many ways. I don’t have a set word limit or page count that I try to achieve every day. I don’t have a strict routine that I need to help me “get in the zone”. In the past I did form something like the habits of a dedicated dilletante (an oxymoron, I know). In between my university degrees I had no need to wake up early, and so would rise at noon, walk to my laptop in my dressing gown, and sit down and write for several hours, only eating at about 3 PM. Although this was wildly successful for me (I would spend the whole day writing essentially, sometimes until 1 AM), it was not a method that fits into ordinary life, and as a result I had to learn and change again.

For me now, my writing process is more about engaging with where my head is at, and understanding whether that will be or could be or complete is not conducive to work for the day. Am I eager to get down to work, is my mind feeling a bit cold and needs some warming up first like a car in winter, do I just need a complete break? This is all founded on two things – recognising when I need to be pushed, and recognising when I need a guilt-free break. Emphasis on the guilt-free. As a result, I don’t necessarily write every day. However, I am fortunate that when I do, I am generally very productive as far as word count generation goes.

As a fantasy writer, a lot of my time is spent in research and world building. I have notebooks and Word docs where I write down details and questions, and draw sketches and maps to help visualise details and locations. Whilst this is not the actual act of writing, it is part of the work of writing, and part of my process. It is on the basis of all of this ground work that the foundations of a great deal of my work is formed, and only through research and world building that I am able to create a novel-length tale from the fragile beginnings that a possible story begins as.

But what is that beginning?

Unless I am writing to a brief, I won’t generally actively search for an idea. Instead I consume media (books, documentaries, films, shows, etc.) and at some point a spark will strike. This is an extremely relaxed method, and is by no means a guaranteed method of idea production, but I am fortunate that it has not yet done me any disservice. At this point, the idea is a delicate thing. Something I don’t pay close attention to, but am aware of, and let it grow in the back of my mind until it is substantial enough to survive on a page.

For many a blank Word document is an intimidating and difficult thing. When I am handling a new idea, a Word doc feels to sterile. There is not enough possibility on that blank white glowing square for the idea to grow, whilst paper and handwriting feel more organic and open. As a result, new ideas are first put into words on scraps of paper. With a small piece of paper, it doesn’t matter if I don’t fill it all with words, and it will be easier to fill up as well. When I’m lucky, the idea begins to spool itself off, growing and developing further as I write it down. If it is substantial enough to carry a whole story, then I generally end up with about a thousand words which form the first fragile skeleton that I will build upon.

This is the point where that first body begins to be transposed into its first Word doc. As I do so, when the idea has the material and stamina to actually hold a full story, it will continue to generate itself as I do this, and I may write some opening scenes. If it does not have that stamina, I will leave it alone for another time. As I continue to work on the idea, fleshing out the general arc of the story as a whole, I slowly transition to building chapter outlines. This is something that I have been doing only in recent years (by which I mean, about four).

Chapter planning was something that I used to be very against. I would have thousands of words written that detailed the general passage of time and events through the story, detailed moments of particular scenes, and sometimes even patches of description or dialogue, but very rarely ever broke these down into chapters. Eventually, I did start to do this with a piece of fanfiction, and I discovered that it was actually very helpful. This was a moment where I was actively engaging with developing my process, trying something I didn’t like the idea of, and discovering that it actually worked for me. This is not to say that everything you dislike will become a point of epiphany for you, but rather that it is worthwhile sometimes dipping your toe into the waters of something you are against, just on the off chance that you actually turn out to like it.

With chapter planning, it was easier to name the chapters whilst I was actively constructing their contents, the general theme or idea that it revolved around easily transforming into a few punchy words. It also became much easier to write them. My outlines were anything from a couple of sentences to several large paragraphs, and generally I found the shorter outlines easier to fulfil. I knew the general feel I wanted, I knew where the chapter began, and, most importantly, I knew where it finished. This gave me a target to aim at, and it ensured that my chapters, instead of meandering about as I tried to figure out my way to something that I could only guess at, were directed and purposeful with that end point in mind.

This is something that I consider quite important. Naturally the purpose of one’s writing will change with the type of writing. Most genre fiction will feel a lot more directed that literary fiction, for instance, there is the plot to advance, as opposed to simply sitting with a character. These are not value judgements, but rather comparisons of intent. As a writer of genre fiction therefore, having a sense of direction and forward propulsion in my chapters is important. The readers want that momentum, they want the story to progress.

The third benefit of chapter planning relates in part to the next part of my process. Which is knowing when to stop for the day. As a general rule, I do not like to write until I finish a chapter and then stop there. Instead, I tend to continue over, allowing the flow that I have achieved to tip into the next chapter so that I am able to begin it strongly. This is where the chapter planning features – knowing what I am starting next is incredibly helpful. However, this is where self-control and my process come in.

If I am approaching a time when I want to stop writing for the day, this is when I must resist the temptation to continue writing until I hit a wall. By holding back that impulse to continue and stopping just a bit before the wall, I find it gives me some breathing space and means that I don’t write myself into a standstill. As a result, the next time I come to write, I can often skip needing to warm up my brain. Re-reading the beginning stub of the chapter that I wrote the previous session is enough, and with a refreshed mind I don’t hit the wall I was approaching previously, but rather effortlessly sail through. Although knowing when to stop sounds silly and self-evident, it is one of the main features of my process, and is involved with setting myself up for the next time so that I get an easy re-entry into the work.

The last major part of my process is something that I mentioned at the outset. That is, guilt-free breaks. It is not feasible to think that you can push and push yourself without rest. The work of writing is extremely cerebral, and whilst to many it may seem like we do nothing, or that writing is easy, these are fallacies that are far from the truth. All the work we do is in the mind, and as many writers have been credited with saying: “easy reading is hard writing”. It is easy to write off something if you cannot see the work and effort that goes into it, and whilst this is a great disservice to the writers and creators out there who find their work thus dismissed and belittled, their prices questioned, it is even more important that we remember to give ourselves guilt-free breaks.

But why the emphasis on guilt-free? I will answer the question with some questions. Is a break really a break if you feel guilty about it? Are you really resting and relaxing if you are feeling guilty about the work you feel you should be doing instead of having a break? Are you not simply mentally scourging yourself instead of taking the time to relieve yourself of burdens and simply enjoy yourself? The answers that arise to your mind reading these questions will surely provide my answer.

We live in a society where productivity is valued. Where we must always be doing something, or multiple things, but they must be things associated with value and output. Resisting this impulse is important. We need breaks. We are not automatons. There is nothing wrong with needing a break, no shame, no embarrassment. Your value as a person is not diminished by being “unproductive”. And this is an important thing to remember. Burnout is real and far too common, and it is an unfortunate result of this over-emphasis on needing to always be working and productive.

Now more than ever, this is something we are having to focus on. During the lockdown period many have struggled with the pressure to need to be seen to be doing things. For we must not only be productive, but performatively so. Social media accelerates this. We see the highlight reel of our friends and acquaintances learning a craft or foraying successfully into baking, and we compare that with the downs, not just the ups, of our own lives, and feel inadequate as a result. Productivity equating your value is a notion of capitalism, because in the workplace naturally the point is to be producing something. Human value is something far greater than how much we can produce, however, and it is important to remember that.

Another result of the current time period is that it has ironically drawn out the importance of art as much as it has shown how people belittle it. I have seen many instances of people and governments undervaluing the importance that art has to people and society, and it is both heart-breaking and infuriating to see. This is not special to lockdown. These are very common modes of thinking. I myself have been questioned about why I wasted my time and money on studying creative writing (because it’s obviously something that’s super easy that anyone can do). Being an artist/writer/creator is often a massive leap of faith. You are beholden to the public, and there is very often no safety net. The bravery of creators is often never understood or thought of by those who have not seen or experienced it. The risks taken to create the art and media we enjoy are great, and made by many.

It is because of these modes of thinking that it is important to protect your process. It is important to protect your joy in your art. It is important to protect and set aside that time for your writing. It is often easy for an outsider to dismiss the work that goes into the creation of a story. It is also often easy for a writer to dismiss the importance of what they are doing. Afterall, it’s not like we’re a doctor saving someone’s life, or a builder creating a house. This is a trap. Writers contribute something that speaks to the essence of human nature. We as humans do so many unnecessary things that are not required for us to survive, and yet it is part of what makes us human. Art, music, song, dance. These are all unique elements of our species, and writing is part of that.

So protect your writing process. Writing and the arts should be respected as much as any other form of work. They should not be devalued because at surface level it seems easy, or because there is apparently nothing going on when you are simply sitting and thinking about a problem that you’re dealing with. Writing is something that everyone can do, but not everyone can do well – and that should be remembered.