I adore writing. I love telling stories. I love building the plot. I love the rush to jot down an idea on the closest piece of paper I can find so I don’t forget it.
I also love writing – the kind people don’t do anymore.
My process is almost the antitheses of that list.
All I need is a pen and a spiral notebook. Rarely, I need a few post-it notes/note cards for the random thoughts.
I do insist on utter quietness. On occasion I have been known to ignore my family, sitting in the same room with me (even the boisterous two-year old) to write a quick scene that can’t wait. But, for most of my work I am in quietness on the couch, or on my bed, enjoying the dual acts of writing. Pen on paper, forming each word, as the thoughts and hand thread together to create the action. I have made so many surprising changes to what I thought would happen in a scene simply by focusing entirely on the moment – that scene, that word, that character – and letting the action shape as I go.
I cannot get that at the computer. I can see what’s wrong, what needs to be fixed, or how to make quick improvements. But the inventiveness and the story itself is irretrievably tied with the physical act of writing for me. They cannot be separated and I don’t think I want them to be separated. It is one of the best parts of the process.