The other day on Twitter I was asked about my writing process, and realized that I’ve never really talked or written about it before. Mostly because it’s always been less scientific than intuitive for me, but I’m going to try to list some of the things that are constants.
The Initial Spark
One of the first and most common questions writers get, both from other writers and non-writers, is “where do your ideas come from?” My ideas come from what I think of as an initial spark–something that sets off a chain reaction of “what ifs” in my brain that all coalesce to form a scene. That’s always how my books start–with a particular scene. It’s not always the opening, or the end. It can be anywhere in the story. But it gives me a glimpse of the world and characters and their dilemma, and serves as the thing I build around.
For instance, with The Light Between Worlds, the initial spark was reading a tweet where someone in publishing wished for a book about Susan Pevensie post-Narnia. I started thinking about what Susan’s life would have been like, and how a story like that could be framed–it couldn’t be about Susan herself, given that Narnia’s copyright hasn’t expired. But it could be about someone like Susan–someone in similar circumstances. At that point, the first scene struck me–of a lovely, put-together girl being approached by a stag in the middle of Trafalgar Square. That scene occurs at around the 75% mark of The Light Between Worlds, but it gave me the basics I needed to build the story–I had Philippa, her longing, her world in London, and the character of Cervus the stag, as well. Everything else grew out from that meeting.
With A Treason of Thorns, the initial spark was, of all things, a Twitter bot (I promise not everything I write starts on Twitter). It’s a fabulism-type bot which generates tweets about a mysterious, somewhat Gothic English garden. On a whim, I wrote a microfiction based on one of the tweets, about a girl in a sentient garden, waiting for suitors with a very odd friend. That scene became the basis for Violet and Burleigh House and Wyn.
Other sparks have been walking my dog and coming up with a scene in which a character is traveling on foot to a distant mountain, inhabited by a fearsome being her community views as a god. Nursing my oldest as an infant and imagining the first meeting between a queen and the wet nurse who would tend her children. Considering how I could reframe the fairytale The Wild Swans and being struck by an image, of a girl with black hair walking into the sea to beg for the lives of her missing kin.
The sparks that can kindle a story are all around us, so long as we view the world with curiosity, an openness to possibility, and consider that all-important question, “what if?”
Building a Framework
Once the concept for a story exists, I build the framework, or structure. This is where the well-known authorial designations of pantser, planner, and plantser come in (a pantser is someone who makes up stories as they go–flying by the seat of their pants. A planner plots everything prior to writing. A plantser does a combination of the two, planning some of the framework of the story, but leaving room for adjustment and embellishment).
I myself started out as a pantser. I’d use the instincts for story we all have, as individuals living in a media-saturated world, and craft a narrative that just felt right. Now that I write under deadlines, I’ve become that combination of a planner and a pantser. It’s easier at this point, to revise the structure of a story before I’ve gone to the trouble of writing the whole thing. I do, however, still write at least a few opening chapters before planning out the entire story. This lets me get a feel for the characters and world and central problem, which gives me a better grasp of the different forms the narrative could take. How much of the story I write before plotting can vary–anywhere from three or four chapters, to the entirety of the first act, though getting the whole first act done is my preference.
While I plot somewhat in advance now, I still do a lot of the creative work organically–I come up with the narrative in my mind, usually on country drives or walks–and then write a synopsis that covers all the key plot points I devised. My favorite resource for plot structure is the Save the Cat beat sheet, which you can find here. Once the framework of the story is complete, I revise the synopsis about eleven billion times with my agent and editor, until we come up with something that feels true to my initial concept of the book, while being sufficiently fast-paced (pacing is my Achilles’ heel, I would write books with no plot to speak of if left to my own devices!) After this, I draft the remainder of the story, staying more or less true to the synopsis. There’s still lots of room for filling in the blanks and finding surprises within and between the planned scenes, which appeals to the former pantser in me.
Research Rabbit Holes
I write primarily historical fantasy, which is absolutely wonderful because I get all the trouble and frustration of ensuring historical accuracy AND crafting a consistent magic system and mythos. I am, if nothing else, a glutton for punishment.
In order to make life somewhat easier, I tend to choose historical settings I have at least a passing familiarity with. This usually allows me to do an initial first draft with minimal research–just some fact-checking along the way to be sure of dates and distances, etc. But sometimes, I run into areas that need deeper study. Thus far, my most research-heavy book by far was The Light Between Worlds, thanks to my decision to set much of the second half in London’s National Gallery. I spent hours upon hours studying the Gallery’s history and learning the nuances and process of art restoration. At one point, I even reached out to a wonderful archivist at the Gallery, who provided me with floor plans for the Gallery in 1951, when The Light Between Worlds is set. When researching, feel free to go deep if that’s your preference–there are always details I know I can fudge because of the unlikeliness of any readers realizing I’ve done so, but for me, the knowledge that I’ve been as accurate as possible is a great feeling. I’m willing to put in the work for that.
The Disaster Draft
Once a story is fully drafted and the research primarily done and incorporated, I get feedback. Depending on what I wrote a piece for, this can be from critique partners or my agent or an editor. I always hope not to have to make massive structural changes–that is, after all, why I now write a synopsis to be critiqued and revised in advance. But even without overwhelming changes to structure, there’s always a lot of work to be done in the Disaster Draft.
The Disaster Draft feels like ruining your book.
There’s really no way around it. You take your first draft, which felt good and exciting and new and relatively cohesive, and tear bits of it out and Frankenstein other bits in, and it gets clunky and stops flowing nicely and you lose all perspective and spend a lot of time lying on the floor in despair, convinced you’ve wrecked everything and are a failure and will never meet your deadline.
……………………………Or at least I do.
However, the Disaster Draft is not ruining your book. I like to think of it this way–when the Old Masters painted, they created beautiful sketches to work from. The sketches were lovely and works of art in their own right. And then the Old Masters ruined them. They put blobs of paint on. They blocked in color. Everything began to look messy and unfinished and like a disaster, as they filled in the framework they’d created. But once the color was blocked in and they began to add detail, the painting took shape and became Art again. It never would have got there without that messy in-between stage.
So persevere–this too shall pass, even if you need to spend a lot of time on the floor to get through it.
The Magic Draft
For me, the Magic Draft is where everything finally comes together. All the Frankensteined bits and pieces are ready to be smoothed together, the stitches hidden, the details added. The Magic Draft is when I start to think, again, “Hey, I did pretty good! This is actually a great story!”
Depending on where you are in your growth as an artist and especially depending on the book, you may need multiple Disaster Drafts before you get to the magic. That’s okay, and normal. If you still believe in the story at hand, keep pressing on. Eventually, it will all come together. I have one concept which is incredibly dear to me that I’ve been trying to shepherd through the initial framework-building stage for *checks calendar* seven years. Obviously if you have a hard deadline to work through, you can’t let things breathe forever, but if that’s an option, take the time you need.
Eyes on the Horizon
One thing that will help maintain your forward momentum is to always have ideas on the backburner. I keep a file of story concepts, which I write out as three paragraph pitches built out around that initial spark and scene, and save for when I need them. At any given time, my preference is to have a minimum of one story being drafted, one being revised, and one for which I’m doing the cognitive work of planning–developing the story framework in my head. If the publishing fates smile, this allows for a seamless transition from one project to another, as you just move things up the list/to the next stage of development as progress is made. This is a practical application of the old adage about eggs and baskets–don’t pin your hopes to a single story idea. It’s not one story you’re building, it’s yourself a writer. There are always more concepts, even if you have to lay a dear one to rest.
And I think that’s all! Hopefully some of this was enlightening or helpful! If anything stood out to you in particular, or you have questions, feel free to let me know in the comments.
