Encouragement for beginners: “Every first draft is perfect, because all a first draft has to do is exist.”

 

“First drafts are a writer’s agony and ecstasy,” writes K.M. Weiland.

 

“This is where your glistening ideas spill onto the page. This is where you get to play around with your ideas, see your characters grow and your themes mature.

 

“First drafts are fun. They’re your creative playground,” she continues.

 

“But,” she says, “when you start overthinking your first draft, that’s when everything starts feeling much more difficult.

 

“Our words on paper rarely measure up to the sparkling perfection of the ideas in our heads. . . . We want so badly to get our first drafts right. . . . And this is where we can run into problems.

 

“We can become obsessed about creating a perfect rough draft and end up totally psyching ourselves out.

 

“. . . You sit there and think about How to Be an Awesome Writer . . . [but] this is not a good plan,” she says.

 

If her words describe you,

I encourage you to relax.

Take a deep breath.

 

Later, you’ll revise and rewrite and edit,

but that’s not on your to-do list in the beginning.

And when you do revise and rewrite and edit,

don’t think it’s punishment!

Instead, think of it as polishing and beautifying your work.

 

Prepare to write several renderings

before you publish your memoir.

 

Your original version is merely your preliminary sketch.

 

That’s true for every writer.

 

“The first draft is just you telling yourself the story.”

Terry Pratchett

 

It’s your starting point.

 

For now, take in these words from Jane Smiley—comforting, encourage words:

 

“Every first draft is perfect,

because all a first draft has to do is exist.”

 

Shannon Hale looks at it this way:

 

“I’m writing a rough draft

and reminding myself

that I’m simply shoveling sand into a box

so that later I can build castles.”

 

Let’s think about that—about building castles.

 

“The turrets and spires . . . do not have to be built [in your rough draft]. All the little details can come later in your writing process. . . . Perfection is never expected,” says Makenna Myers.

 

“ . . . Don’t worry about your grammar or punctuation; let the words flow freely. . . .

 

“Sandcastles are wonderful because they are malleable. . . . If [later] you determine one of your main points isn’t working, that is no problem. Take it out and smash it like a tower of sand!

 

“Next time you feel overwhelmed by your first draft, tell yourself . . . you’re building a sandcastle. Don’t stress over the lack of perfection the first time around.” (Makenna Myers)

 

Even award-winning authors

write rough drafts.

 

For now, just get something in writing.

 

And keep in mind that your initial version

is for your eyes only.

 

Think of it as a foundation for what will one day be your completed memoir. 

 

Remember the old Chinese proverb: “A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step.”

 

Taking that single step might be the most difficult, the most challenging, the most intimidating. After all, you’re facing the unknown, standing on unfamiliar ground.

 

But you need a starting point.

That point is the day you write your first draft.

 

And when you do,

celebrate your victory! Pat yourself on the back!

 

You’ll enjoy Janice Hardy’s words:

 

“There’s something exciting and rewarding about a first draft.  The story that’s been in our heads is finally down on paper. . . .”

 

Some of your initial work will sparkle.

Other parts might be awkward—maybe even a bit scruffy.

Perhaps you’ve written incomplete sentences.

A few memories are a bit fuzzy.

Grammar and spelling need help.

But that’s okay.

 

Your main goal is to get something in writing.

 

Later you can stand back and make fixes—

sometime in the future.

 

And be encouraged: Once you’ve penned one vignette, you’ll find that writing others will be easier.

 

Beginning your memoir takes courage. It requires commitment.

 

Once you take that first step

you will have embarked on a remarkable,

rewarding journey.

 

You will learn so much personally in the process of writing

 and, one day, when your memoir is complete,

your readers will find blessings, encouragement,

and inspiration for living their own lives.

 

Let your journey begin!

 

“When you say something, make sure you have said it”

 

After you’ve written a chapter for your memoir, set it aside for a week, or for at least a couple of days. Don’t think about it for a while. Instead, work on another chapter.

 

Distance and time are your friends—they do wonders for objectivity—because the fresher the story is in your memory, the harder it will be to catch things you need to change.

 

Later, print that chapter. Reading on paper is different from reading on a computer screen. I haven’t yet figured out why, but it’s true. I always notice glitches and hiccups on a written page that I miss on a computer screen.

 

Read your story aloud. Read it as if you were a stranger. You’ll be surprised at the changes you’ll want to make—changes that will improve your story for your readers.

 

“When you say something,

make sure you have said it,”

says E.B. White.

“The chances of your having said it are only fair.”

 

He’s right. Rarely do we write a clear message the first time, or even the second or third times.

 

I’ve heard that 80 percent of what we communicate is misunderstood.

 

In other words, we communicate accurately only 20 percent of the time.

 

That’s scary.

 

Read over your stories to be sure they’re clear. Be sure you’ve said what you meant to say.

 

Listen to this advice from a long-time mentor of mine:

 

“You write to discover what you want to say.

You rewrite to discover what you have said

and then rewrite to make it clear to other people.”

Donald Murray

 

And remember:

 

“Revision is not punishment,” says Murray in The Craft of Revision.

 

“Writing evolves from a sequence of drafts,” he says. “Scientists . . . experiment. . . . Actors and musicians rehearse. Retailers test markets, politicians take polls, manufacturers try pilot runs. They all revise, and so do writers. Writing is rewriting.”

 

Instead of thinking of revision as punishment, think of it as an art—it’s polishing your manuscript and making it sparkle.

 

Remember, your stories are important. They can change individuals, families, communities, towns, nations—even the world!

 

Write your stories!

 

Writing your memoir: “A lump in the throat and a deep, wordless feeling”

Prolific writer Frederick Buechner says that when he writes books, they “start—as Robert Frost said his poems did—with a lump in the throat . . . with a deep, wordless feeling for some aspect of my own experience that has moved me.” (Now and Then: A Memoir of Vocation)

Do you know that “deep, wordless feeling” that longs to find its way from within you and into black and white on paper?

If so, you’ll find encouragement and inspiration from Donald Murray’s words in The Craft of Revision:

If you haven’t yet begun to write your memoir,

begin today!

Write so you can discover what you want to say,

and then rewrite to make sense of that

“deep, wordless feeling,”

and share your story with others.

Readers don’t want us to dillydally around

We mustn't waste our readers' time. We need to grab their attention from the outset, from the first sentence and the first paragraphs of our memoirs.

How do we do that? By deliberately crafting an opening to draw them in.

We need to make our readers curious. To hook them. To keep them reading.

But most writers don't know how to craft an effective opening. In fact, many of us don't even know what, specifically, we want to communicate.

So we scatter a few words and sentences across our computer screen and then we add or delete or move a few words—until we realize we're just flailing around. And we thank God nobody is reading over our shoulder because first attempts can be really embarrassing.

But don't worry. Believe it or not, we are making progress. We are experimenting and, in the process, we're constructing scaffolding which will help us build a sturdy opening. Really.

Our scaffolding gets us going, provides momentum, and helps us zero in on the story we want to write.

"As the tennis player rallies before the game begins,

so must the writer.

And as the tennis player

is not concerned with where those first balls are going,

neither must the writer be concerned

with the first paragraph or two.

All you're doing is warming up."

Leonard S. Bernstein

Decades ago, I learned about scaffolding from Donald Murray, and later from Roy Peter Clark and Don Fry, authors of Coaching Writers: Editors and Writers Working Together. They say, 

". . . Sometimes the writer must write her way into the story, creating sentences that can't appear in the final version but do get the writer to where she wants to go. So the writer erects a scaffold to build the story, but dismantles it to let the story show through."

So then, scaffolding is temporary, a structure that supports the construction of what will eventually stand alone.

Bill Roorbach describes scaffolding this way:

"Good stories . . . leap right to their subjects, perhaps not in draft one, or draft six, but at some point, the introductory apparatus is cut, seen for what it is: scaffolding. You put up the elaborate and complicated and even beautiful scaffolding and build the cathedral. When the cathedral is complete, well, you take the scaffolding down." (Writing Life Stories)

So begin writing, knowing that later you might delete some or all of those initial attempts. (And nowadays, deleting and rearranging and rewriting are so much easier than they used to be—back when we used typewriters, sometimes manual typewriters, and later electric. If you've never typed compositions or articles or books on a typewriter, you have no idea how computers have revolutionized writers' lives!)

Readers will like us and our memoirs better 

if we remove the scaffolding.

Why?

Because they don't want us to dillydally around. They want us to get right to the point.

When we do, our stories have punch, focus, and power.

Look over your memoir's opening. Read it aloud.

And answer these questions:

What is my memoir's main point—the story's purpose? Its signficance?

Do my first few paragraphs focus on or aim toward that main point?

Do my readers need to know this information? Or is it scaffolding—did I write it only to find my way into my story?

Dismantle your scaffolding. Let your story stand strong.

Tuesday Tidbit: “A lump in the throat and a deep, wordless feeling”

Frederick Buechner says that when he writes books, they “start—as Robert Frost said his poems did—with a lump in the throat . . . with a deep, wordless feeling for some aspect of my own experience that has moved me.” (from Now and Then: A Memoir of Vocation)

Do you know that “deep, wordless feeling” that longs to find its way from inside you and into black and white on paper?

If so, you’ll find encouragement and inspiration from Donald Murray’s words in The Craft of Revision:

Begin! 

Write so you can discover what you want to say, 

and then rewrite to make sense 

of that “deep wordless feeling” 

and share your story with others.

Your memoir’s key people: Include only relevant details

For the past two Thursdays, we’ve looked at ways to polish your memoir and make it as user-friendly as possible:  After all, you want people to read it—but you want more than that: You want them to feel immersed in it. You want readers to experience what you experienced.

Today we’ll focus on creating realistic characters. (You don’t need to flesh out every person in your memoir, but readers want to get acquainted with your main characters.)

What are your character’s most significant features and actions and habits and mannerisms? Include sensory details—details pertaining to the five senses: seeing, touching, tasting, smelling, and hearing.

In The Orchardist, Amanda Coplin’s main character, Talmadge, looks like this—this is what she wants the reader to see:

          “His face was as pitted as the moon…. His ears were elephantine, a feature most commented on when he was younger, when the ears stuck out from his head; but now they had darkened like the rest of his sun-exposed flesh and lay against his skull…and were tough, the flesh granular like the rind of some fruit. He was clean-shaven, large-pored; his skin was oily. In some lights his flesh was gray; others, tallow; others, red. His lips were the same color as his face…. His nose was large, bulbous. His eyes were cornflower blue…. and his lips were as pure and sculpted as a cherub’s….

          “His arms were sun-darkened and flecked with old scars. He combed his hair over his head, a dark, sparse wing kept in place with pine-scented pomade.”

Develop a multi-dimensional person: go beyond a physical, sensory description. What was endearing about her? Annoying about him? Comical, scary, heroic? What did she obsess over? And was that a good or bad obsession? What did other people say or think about that person?

Frederick Buechner writes of New Testament character Paul:

          “Paul’s mads were madder and his blues bluer, his pride prouder and his humbleness humbler, his strengths stronger and his weaknesses weaker than almost anybody else’s you’d be apt to think of…. [H]is contemporaries accused him of being insincere, crooked, yellow, physically repulsive, unclean, bumbling, and off his rocker.” (from Wishful Thinking and later from Beyond Words)

Peel back layers:

Readers need to know what was happening between the lines.

What was happening beneath and beyond the sensory details?

What was going on inside?

What were that person’s thoughts?

What was it about the person’s history, 

beliefs, 

goals,

fears, 

experiences, 

successes, 

quirks, 

failures,

character, 

or values 

that impacted your life?

For example, Frederick Buechner writes,

          “Like her father, my grandmother had little patience with weakness, softness, sickness. Even gentleness made her uncomfortable, I think—the tender-hearted people who from fear of giving pain, or just from fear of her, hung back from speaking their minds the way she spoke hers.” (The Sacred Journey)

Your goal is to accurately portray the most important people in your stories without overdoing it.  Know what information to include and what to leave out: Include relevant details; leave out irrelevant ones. If your character was an avid fisherman and a Kansas City Royals fan but those details have no relevance to your story, you can probably leave out that information.

Roy Peter Clark says it this way:

          “To bring a person to literary life requires not a complete inventory of characteristics, but selected details arranged to let us see flesh, blood, and spirit. In the best of cases—when craft rises to art—the author conjures a character that seems fully present for the reader….”

Revise and polish your memoir in those places where

your main characters need to come to life.

Develop people your readers can visualize, but go beyond that:

create living, breathing, vibrant,

memorable, significant characters.

Choose precise words to briefly but adequately flesh out

the most important aspects of key people,

people who are believable, knowable, and well-rounded.

If you can achieve that,

your readers will feel acquainted and connected

with your memoir’s most important characters.

If you missed the last two Thursday posts, click on:

“When you say something, make sure you have said it”

The importance of “place” in your memoir

“When you say something, make sure you have said it”

After you’ve written a chapter or vignette for your memoir, set it aside for at least a couple of weeks. Don’t think about it for a while. 

Distance and time are your friends—they do wonders for objectivity—because the fresher the story is in your memory, the harder it will be to catch things you need to change.

Later, print out that chapter/vignette. Reading on paper is different from reading on a computer screen. I haven’t yet figured out why, but it’s true. I always notice glitches and hiccups on a written page that I miss on a computer screen.

Read your story aloud. Read it as if you were a stranger. You’ll be surprised at the changes you’ll want to make—changes that will improve your story for your readers.

“When you say something,

make sure you have said it,”

says E.B. White.

“The chances of your having said it are only fair.”

He’s right. Rarely do we write a clear message the first time, or even the second or third times.

I’ve heard that 80 percent of what we communicate is misunderstood.

In other words, we communicate accurately only 20 percent of the time.

That’s scary.

Read over your stories to be sure they’re clear. Be sure you’ve said what you meant to say.

Listen to this advice from a real pro, a long-time mentor of mine:

“You write to discover what you want to say.

You rewrite to discover what you have said

and then rewrite to make it clear to other people.”

Donald Murray

And remember:

“Revision is not punishment,” says Murray in The Craft of Revision.

“Writing evolves from a sequence of drafts,” he says. “Scientists…experiment…. Actors and musicians rehearse. Retailers test markets, politicians take polls, manufacturers try pilot runs. They all revise, and so do writers. Writing is rewriting.”

Instead of thinking of revision as punishment, think of it as an art—it’s polishing your manuscript and making it sparkle.

Remember, your stories are important.  

They can change individuals, families, 

communities, towns, nations—even the world!

Write your stories!

Tuesday Tidbit: Write now, fix later

“… [R]emember that whatever you have written 

is neither as good nor as bad as you think it is. 

Just keep going, 

and tell yourself that you will fix it later.” 

Jane Smiley

Pat yourself on the back for what you have already written.

But remember:

The clock is ticking.

Be intentional about writing your memoir.

Focus.

Resolve to finish writing your memoir.

Persevere.

And pray!

There you have it, your 15 seconds of inspiration,

your Tuesday Tidbit.

Tuesday Tidbit: Writing and rewriting

Here's your 15 seconds of inspiration for this week's Tuesday Tidbit:

I thoroughly enjoy rewriting. Do you? 

Leave a comment below.

Tips for writing a top-notch opening

Your opening is the most important part to write well—whether you’re penning a book, a vignette, an article, a blog post, or an opening paragraph for the Women’s Memoirs contest. (Did you miss Tuesday’s post? If so, click here. And remember, the contest is open to men, too.)

At the same time, the opening is probably the most difficult part to write well.

Your beginning can make or break your story: An effective opening can entice a person to keep reading—but a weak opening can make a person close the book and walk away.

Before you start working hard to perfect your opening,

chew on this question:

Is your opening the correct opening?

Most of us write our way into stories. We start writing anywhere we can, and that’s fine.  We get down as much as we can, knowing that later we’ll go back and reorganize, edit, rewrite, and polish.

Warming up. Yes, that’s what we’re doing with our first drafts, maybe even with our second and third drafts, too.

Most of us warm up by circling around the heart of our stories. Warming up helps shape our ideas, discover where our story is taking us, and pin down what’s important.

I’m talking about the scaffolding we set up to build our stories.

I first learned about scaffolding years ago from Donald Murray, and later from Roy Peter Clark and Don Fry.  They say:

Chip Scanlan tells how scaffolding in writing resembles scaffolding in construction:

“Scaffolding is the ‘temporary framework of platforms and poles constructed to provide accommodation for workmen and their materials during the erection, repairing, or decoration of a building,’ as the Oxford English Dictionary defines the term.

“In the writing trade,” Scanlan says, “the poles and planks of scaffolding are words, phrases, and sentences that help the writer build.” (Click here to read the rest of his post, Dismantling Your Story’s Scaffolding.)

Whether you’re building a castle or a memoir, the scaffolding must come down.

Look over your WIPs (works in progress) and identify the scaffolding. Those are the sentences that “can’t appear in the final version” (Clark and Fry).

Is it possible that your original opening paragraph is scaffolding?

If so, remove it.

Then, examine your story to determine the best opening. Often the opening—or the idea for your opening—is buried deep within the story.

In most of my writing, I seldom craft the best opening until I’m well into the revision phase.

How about you?

Your assignment this week is to recognize and dismantle your scaffolding. Then begin planning to create the best opening for your piece.

We have lots more to consider

about crafting an outstanding opening.

Be sure to come back next week!

Your sock drawer can enhance the joy (yes, joy) of rewriting

“When you say something,

make sure you have said it,”

says  E. B. White.

“The chances of your having said it are only fair.”

He’s right. Rarely can we write a clear message the first time, or even the second or third time.

I’ve heard that 80 percent of what we communicate is misunderstood.

That means we communicate accurately only 20 percent of the time.

That’s scary.

Several of us are using these summer months to rework our memoirs’ rough drafts because (1) our stories are important and (2) we want to be sure we’ve said what we meant to say.

We want our stories to be clear to other people.

“You write to discover what you want to say.

You rewrite to discover what you have said

and then rewrite to make it clear to other people.”

Donald Murray

Let’s pin down a definition of rewriting.

Scott Edelstein says, “Rewriting, revising, and revision all mean the same thing: looking at a piece again and writing it over, using a fresh approach or perspective. The result of each rewrite is a new draft of your piece.” (1,818 Ways to Write Better & Get Published)

“… There are many different ways to rewrite, and many different legitimate approaches to it,” he points out. “Feel free to do whatever seems best for your piece.”

How many times must a writer rewrite? Edelstein’s answer: “There is no ‘right’ number of rewrites.… Do however many revisions are necessary to get your piece into finished shape.”

“Get used to rewrites,” advises Dr. John Yeoman. “Make [your stories] as good as you can, and then drop them in your sock drawer for a month. They’ll develop errors, dull interludes, and patches of downright ugliness all by themselves. That’s the time to fix them. Then drop them back in the drawer for another month and do it all over again.” (Five Winning Habits of Successful Writers) 

Donald Murray acknowledges the joys of rewriting. “… The act of revision is central to the pleasure of making. When we build a house, bake a batch of Christmas cookies…, write an essay, we add to the world. And in the making we lose ourselves.…

“Before I sit down to write I put on [music] and turn up the volume, but when I become lost in the writing and rewriting I no longer hear the music or know if it stops; I forget the time, the place, who I am going to meet for lunch.…

“The joy—yes, joy—of crafting a text under my hand and with my ear is a daily satisfaction to me.” (The Craft of Revision)

May, you, too, find joy and satisfaction in revising your stories!