The Uncertainty of Writing

Lately I’ve been dipping into Pema Chodron’s book Comfortable with Uncertainty (Shambhala, 2002). I’m at an uncertain point in my life and needing reminders to breathe deeply, face my fears, and accept that everything is impermanent. I’m reminded that all of this is good advice for the writing life as well. After all, what’s more uncertain than the writer’s life?

When we open up to writing, we, perhaps unwittingly, open up to uncertainty. We cannot predict where the act of writing will take us. Deeper into ourselves? Into new worlds? Into untapped tombs of passion, tenderness, or rage that find a way onto the page?

It takes courage to face the blank page, to explore new areas of our own minds and hearts, and then to put words down without knowing where they’ll lead. It takes courage to face uncertainty. In the process of developing courage, I’ve been exploring these three approaches:

~ Practice accepting that writing, like life, rises from the uncertain places in ourselves as much as the certain ones. We may not know where our writing is leading us, and that’s fine. It’s part of embracing the mystery of being engaged in creativity, of having the courage to breathe and live.

~ Consider handing off some of your uncertainty to your characters. All humans feel uncertain at some point or other, and so readers will be able to identify with the uncertainty of your characters. Vicariously experiencing a character’s uncertainty, and how they handle it, can help us (and readers) gain a new perspective.

~ Place your need for certainty in areas where you have a fair bit of control. If you set aside time to write daily, even if it’s only 10 minutes or 30 minutes, you are in control of this agreement with yourself. There is too much about writing that is beyond a writer’s control. When we have expectations about particular outcomes, or anticipate who might like our work down the road, or carry around other unfulfilled hopes, we end up creating a lot of unnecessary uncertainty because we’re looking for it in places where it doesn’t exist.

Cultivating the courage to deal with uncertainty, in writing and in life, doesn’t make it go away, but it does make us more resilient creators of life and words.

Does My Story Need an Outline?

Outlines—I used to think: “take ‘em or leave ‘em.” Maybe some people need them, but I’ve got a good handle on my story, so I’ll be fine. Maybe I’ll outline the next time. And then I hit the ‘muddles’, either in the middle of drafting or during revisions. It’s a state between bemusement and sheer panic and consists of various quandaries: What am I doing? Where am I going? What have I done? How did I get here? How will I get there? Does any of this matter? What is the point? Help!

Writing a novel can be hard work. Some days I just don’t want to do it. Some days I wish I were staring at a blank page because it would be better than this tangled mess in front of me that I can’t figure out how to fix.

At times like this I’m glad I have an outline. Even a loose one. An outline can’t save a writer from the work of ‘in the trenches’ craft, but it can be a bit of a lifeline when the ‘muddles’ set in.

Won’t an outline limit me?

Once I’ve jumped into drafting, the wildness of the creative process can take over. Rather than my plan to harvest rows of neatly planted seeds I usually find myself dealing with rampant weeds—the weeds of creative inspiration, mind you, but unnecessary overgrowth nonetheless. These on-the-fly ideas often lend the color, depth, and surprise that make the story rise above a formula, but it can also leave me with a messy jumble.

So I return to my hastily sketched outline.

Like a road map guiding me from one destination to another, an outline helps me stay the course when I’m tempted to veer off (or when I already have).

Is an outline set in stone?

No. Is it worth its weight in gold? Yes, if you are intent on completing a project. Is it necessary? Not at all, but it will get you where you’re going with less fear and trepidation (and possibly fewer weeds to pull).

As you waver on the path of process, an outline is there to remind you of your initial intentions and potential for success. It can keep you ‘on track’ when the vagaries of the creative process tempt you to veer off into the netherworlds of an overly enthusiastic or anxiety-provoked imagination. It is a holding pen for the ideas that will fit in your story as well as a barrier to keep out what doesn’t (because so many new things will vie for a place in your story once you’re really on a roll and you will have to ruthlessly interview each candidate before letting them through the gate).

An outline is a map of where you intend to go. If you hit a roadblock on the way and must find a detour, you’ll adapt. If you choose to take in a scenic byway instead of sticking to the interstate, you are free to make changes. With a map in hand, even if you blow a tire and are waylaid in a small tumbleweed town for a few days, you won’t need to fret, because you are still on your way.

Will I miss out on something by sticking to an outline?

No one can predict the traffic or the weather on a cross the country road trip. You can’t foresee that awesome deli in Chicago or the old drive-in you stumble across in Wyoming. An outline isn’t a guarantee against pitfalls nor is it a block to unexpected opportunities.

At heart, an outline captures your creative intention to complete a particular project and becomes a ‘map’ to keep yourself oriented to your intended path. It is the beginning of giving form to your initially formless idea.

How intently you stick to your outline is up to you. And the level of detail in your outline is also up to you.

How do I create an outline that works for me?

The simplest map you can give yourself might be to say, “I’m writing a novel.” But what if you were to add either “this year” or “this month” to that sentence? Already you’ve created a bit more structure for yourself. “I’m writing a novel this year.” These words set up anticipation and expectation. For fun, let’s throw in a stock character: “I’m writing an novel this year about…an elderly man.” We’re drawn in by even just a little more detail. “An elderly man who loses everything and has to rebuild his life and finds love along the way.” It’s till very vague but beginning to take shape. You can feel some momentum start to build. Questions arise: What does he lose and why? How does he rebuild? Who does he fall in love with? If you want, you can keep going, adding details, until you have a scene-by-scene breakdown. Or you can sketch out some key scenes and sequences that align with basic story structure concepts regarding beginning, middle, and end and go from there.

There are a million ways to approach an outline to your story, and you need to find one that feels natural to you, even a little exciting. Ideally, an outline will motivate you to sit down and write. It will give you the confidence that you can begin, navigate through the middle, and find your way to the end of your story.

You may have try a bunch of different approaches to find the one that works for you, but it’s well worth the effort if you are serious about writing—and finishing—a novel (perhaps more than one).

Can an outline help if I’ve already written a full or partial draft?

Absolutely. You can use it to ensure you have all the pieces your story needs, or it can help you get back on track if, halfway through, you’ve found yourself at a dead end. You’ll probably have to do some major renovations on your story. Outlining isn’t for the faint of heart because you’re forced to face what works and doesn’t work in your story and some of us like to hide behind the mystery and magic of the writing process, adhering to a blind faith that the story will ‘sort itself out’ (I used to be one of these writers). Sometimes we get lucky and the story does sort itself out, though we may not understand why or how and thus be powerless to repeat the process, except by relying on blind faith once more.

Outlines—you can take ‘em or leave ‘em. Personally, at this point in my writing life, I’ll take all the help I can get.

Writing Story Characters

Story characters are like you and me. They have foibles and flaws, hopes and dreams, and histories full of sweet memories as well unhealed wounds. As a writer, you may base some of your characters partially on yourself or people you know. You may give one character your own childhood (perhaps growing up on a farm), add to that your cousin’s flaws (maybe an excessive thirst for bourbon) and weave in your mother’s hopes (maybe to win the lottery and finally gain the respect of friends and neighbors).

Soon you’re on the way to developing a character you’d like to follow around for a bit, see what happens to them, watch them struggle and change, succeed and fail, be overcome by a tragic fate, or fulfill some unexpected destiny.

Although we like to mythologize how our characters ‘take over’ and lead us hither and yon, ultimately, as the writer, it will be your job to decide where this character will lead you, what will happen to them, which struggles they will face and how they will change because of those struggles, what exactly will they fail or succeed at, and whether or not they meet a happy end or a tragic one.

Yes, you can let the character take the reins, at least for a while (and on rare occasions for an entire manuscript) but at some point it’s likely you will have to rein in your unbridled creativity and shape a story to suit your character and a character to suit your story.

You’ll need to ask yourself questions such as: Is this character believable, interesting, worthy of curiosity and care? Which situations best reveal this character? What type of change or growth is relevant for this character? How might this character impact readers?

You might wait to answer these questions until you’ve already written a full, character-led draft, or you might find yourself stumbling part way through a draft, unsure of which direction to go, and be forced to stop until you have some answers, or you might begin your story making process by asking these questions right at the outset.

How you approach your character’s development is integral to your story’s design. Well-crafted characters can almost (but not quite) write our stories for us when we understand their deepest motivations and their stages of development throughout the narrative arc.

There is no wrong way to develop your character but it can be most satisfying, and efficient, to develop your character in connection with your story’s structure. Or, if you’re not even sure which story your character should take part in, a deeper exploration of your character’s true nature will begin to inspire the shape of a story.

Getting to the Work

It’s the biggest challenge we face: opening the notebook or computer document and getting started. There are a hundred different demands and responsibilities vying for our attention and so often our writing ‘has to wait’. But the longer it’s neglected, the more our essential creative nature withers. How can you help yourself get to the work? Try these three simple suggestions:

Be Accountable ~ To yourself or someone else. Schedule a writing session in your calendar and show up for yourself. The commitment suggested by penning it in your calendar tells your brain that you’re taking your efforts seriously by devoting real time—by way of recorded or documented time—to your writing. If you break such appointments with yourself too easily, schedule a session with another writer. You can meet in person at a café or you can agree to meet online. Check in by email, say ‘ready, set, go’ and write for the same amount of time. Check in again after. This form of healthy peer pressure can really stimulate productivity.

Serve up a Diet Portion ~ Tell yourself you only have to sit down and write for fifteen minutes. Take the minutes seriously by turning off wifi and silencing your phone. No distractions! It’s only fifteen minutes after all. Once you get started, you’ll find it hard to stop at fifteen and will likely write for thirty minutes or longer. But you don’t have to. Even fifteen minutes almost every day will lead to real, accomplished work. Over time, this diet portion of writing will add weight to your writing.

Remember the Love ~ The work is so often hard, frustrating, thankless, and results can be a long time coming, but somewhere deep inside… you love this. It means a lot to you. You care about making things. Honor this part of you when you sit down to write. Say to yourself, “No matter what else I have to deal with around my writing, the deep core of my process is made of love.” Ray Bradbury said: “…if you are writing without zest, without gusto, without love, you are only half a writer.” Invite your loving self to sit down with you when your work.

Becoming a Resilient Writer

The writing life is more like a continuous marathon than a slap dash sprint. More than talent, luck, or discipline, a resilient writer needs to develop persistence and endurance. The following 5 traits can help build your resilience.

1. Learn New Things
A published writer from one of my workshops says she loves being a writer because there’s always more to learn. This attitude creates an open mind and invites fresh opportunities for you to keep developing your craft. No matter how much you think you know or don’t know, take a class, listen to a podcast, or go attend an author’s reading. Knowledge and inspiration are always available to you when you are curious and willing to learn.

2. Accept Failure
Anyone successful at anything will admit they experienced failures along the way to success. They just didn’t let it stop them. Small and large failures can be end points or stepping stones. Rejections, criticism, botched projects, and periods of inertia are inevitable in a writer’s life. Build failure into your plan for success and you will be able to pick yourself up more quickly after you trip over those stepping stones.

3. Create Community
Writing can be a lonely vocation so it’s wise to create a community of like-minded loners. Writers’ blogs, forums, and Facebook groups, online and live workshops and writing retreats are a few places to find people. While meeting in person is great, it isn’t necessary with the technology at our fingertips. One of my longest running writing groups has been meeting via Skype for 10 years. What’s most important is to find a handful of people that 1) you can trust 2) will give honest and constructive feedback and 3) will support you through the lows and celebrate you through the highs.

4. Maintain Balance
Though you are a writer all the time, you can’t act like a writer 24/7. Your writing life exists within the context of your human life. Keep it balanced. Exercise, eat well, get enough sleep, spend time with loved ones, play, learn, read, and consider taking up a hobby that has nothing to do with writing. Knitting, painting, sculpture, woodworking, golf, and sailing are some of the writer-hobbies I’ve heard mentioned. These other areas of your life, which at times may feel less important to you than writing, are actually the source of your writing. No matter what imaginary worlds you may be conjuring, the real world provides the foundation for the depth and authenticity of your imagination.

5. Practice Often
I was going to say practice daily but that simply isn’t realistic for many people. Daily practice is the best way to stay limber mentally, emotionally, and physically but if it’s not possible to do this, don’t beat yourself up about it (which is what I spent years doing). Try to find a regular rhythm that works for you, a routine you can maintain for several weeks or months. You may need to experiment a bit. Try getting up early and doing morning pages. Set aside a half hour after the kids go to bed. Take an extra 15 minutes at your lunch break if that’s all you can manage. Reserve a weekday evening or weekend morning that is solely dedicated to writing. Try different approaches until you find something you can live with and commit to it for a minimum of 30 days to establish the habit.

A resilient writer creates habits to support the act of writing. Such dedication to your writing, to your creative self, will build confidence and strength. Ideas will flow. And soon you’ll be running the marathon of a lifetime – the one with no finish line.

Choice, Change, and Conflict

In the midst of all the changes in the world, we are invited to make some new choices—collectively and individually. Unexpected changes bring us face to face with unexpected choices—to let go of certain assumptions and plans, to reframe cultural beliefs and “norms,” to examine what really matters, and why.Making choices and making changes are inherently anxiety provoking, and rarely occur without some degree of conflict. In the world at large we’re witnessing a lot of conflict, but many of us are dealing with it at a personal level too. We are each in our ways dealing with anxiety, worry, pain, and fear related to experiences or observations of inner and outer conflict. These are natural human responses to anticipating change and choice.I think about choice, change, and conflict a lot because they are so much a part of the writing life and telling stories, even in small or subtle ways. Just think: without that bit of inner conflict that arises when we want to write a book but haven’t done it yet, we wouldn’t choose to change our habits to get up early or stay up late to fit our writing in. And if we didn’t throw conflict in our characters’ paths by forcing them to make choices that lead to personal evolution through change, our stories wouldn’t get very far.As messy as conflict can be, I respect its energy to pressure us to choose and thereby provoke change. And I also respect—or better yet, trust—our human ability to adapt to changing circumstances as well as our ability choose and forge new paths. It’s not easy to change. Not for us or for our story characters. We resist it as much as we long for it. We fear what we may lose, and we don’t trust we can successfully create what we long for, so we often stay stuck.In the book I’m writing, I tell writers that their story situations “…must be compelling enough to overcome the inertia of being human. The truth is, we’d all rather not change because change is uncomfortable, inconvenient, anxiety-provoking, and often leads to real or imagined loss or even death, as well as changes to beliefs and personal world order. Of course, deep down, we do want to change. We, and our characters, just need the right set of circumstances and enough motivation to do it.”We seem to be living through such circumstances now, but it’s still hard to know exactly what to do. As our identities and belief systems are being challenged, we are called to examine our mental and moral natures, which are capable of change, but require will, determination, and trust in a vision for a new way of being. I don’t have any answers for rallying that will, focusing that determination, or expanding that trust, except to embrace the clumsy, vulnerable messiness that the choice to change entails—and to have the courage to face the inner and outer conflicts.Another passage in the book, which is about story characters but also applies to ourselves, seems to fit here: "Change is inherently conflictual whether it occurs on the inside or outside, but without it, we would not grow. We are wired to change. We are wired to evolve. We are wired to heal. And life—in the real version or the story version—provides us with invitation after invitation to rise to those challenges.” Collectively and individually, let’s accept these invitations…and rise.