Fixion Lessons From January

Four things I've learned about writing and editing this month

Lesson #1: The work never ends (and that’s a good thing)

A strong, grim start for the longest (emotionally) month of the year. Because the work, indeed, never ends when it comes to developing a story, developing your writing, or striving toward the end of a finished draft.

But this particular lesson is actually one of the most joyful and exciting things I’ve learned about writing and editing.

If the work never ends, you never run out of opportunities to discover something new.

Here’s a question I get asked a lot: “How do you know when you’re finished editing?”

The joke is: never. The hackneyed answer is that most artists are never satisfied with their work, even as it goes to print. But that right there is a marvel.

The fact that your creativity can continue on, boundless, endless, growing exponentially, even past some arbitrary finishing line? Pretty magical.

“Yes, great concept, but how do I actually finish this fucking thing?”

Okay, well, what that means in practical terms is that the ‘exciting’ and ‘fresh’ aspect of writing a first draft doesn’t have to end just because you’ve moved onto the redrafting stage. That freedom of exploration and experimentation can and should continue on, all the way to the end.

Because the single most common sticking point I come across when working with writers in the throes of editing is that lack of spark. Many writers feel they have to suddenly switch to analytical mode and leave behind the discovery aspect of writing. They get overwhelmed trying to (wo)manhandle the sheer deadweight of words they’ve already written, as if they’re not allowed to set them aside and spin some brand new words out of the air every once in a while. As if what they’ve already drafted is canon and they can’t continue to literally make shit up. As if the figuring out of stories stops the minute you say you’re ‘editing’ instead of ‘writing’.

So, if you’re facing a brick wall in your redrafting process, ask yourself:

• What else can I experiment with?

• What can I explore further?

• What could be different?

• And what’s the worst that can happen if I try something new?

‘Cause if the work never ends*, there’s no limit to what you can continue to play with.

*Yes, okay you have to stop sometime, but that’s a whole ‘nother post — or the kind of thing you hire me for ;)

writing is a circular process — and also check out this perfect little wood shaving my husband brought me on my coffee break

Lesson #2: The layers go all the way down

Another freakin’ lovely discovery when working with writers (and sometimes with my own work, too) is that just as the work never ends, the layers never end, either.

The more you explore through editing, the deeper you go into a piece of work, and the more you understand what it is you’re trying to convey, the more themes you discover. Some of them can even be completely subconscious.

Like, I realise we’re all secretly, unknowingly writing about our own psyches, hopes, dreams, regrets, guilt, fears, kinks, whatever — but the fact that we can just write them into a story without initially noticing is both hilarious and fascinating, right?

And yet another reason to fall in love with the editing process because WOW you can learn a lot about yourself as well as your writing.

One of my favourite things this month was flagging up some hitherto undiscovered themes in my clients’ writing and us spending a moment to go “ooooOOOooooOOoooohhh” about it. Truly, nothing better.

Similarly, in one of my own WIPs, I’ve been slowly sculpting a brand new lil’ protagonist out of fictional clay, and while she’s pretty lumpy and shapeless and still has fingerprints in her forehead, I’m already starting to notice whole facets of her personality that are like… oh. OH. That’s where we’re goin’ with this gal, huh? Ok, subconscious, take the wheel.

Ah, writing. It’s not therapy, but it is a lot more fun.

look — even the sky has layers…

Lesson #3: Real life is story-shaped

Speaking of inner truths, I’ve been working with a lot of memoirists, lately — all of them telling extraordinary true stories about their own intricate, fascinating lives — and I’m always amazed at how bizarrely story-shaped real life turns out to be.

I know, I know: “The truth is stranger than fiction!” and “You couldn’t make it up!” etc etc. And perhaps I shouldn’t be all that surprised, but a memoir in development is something quite special to witness.

Because these writers have choreographed their true, often immensely complicated and emotionally complex stories, into something that naturally resembles a traditional (western) narrative structure — from inciting incident to pivotal midpoint to the big crescendo at the end.

Obviously, some of this is purposeful, and takes a lot of thought and careful orchestration to organise their memories into a ‘story’, but all the ups and downs, all the lessons and tragedies and overcoming adversity and character growth — it reads like a novel synopsis.

(An aside: I’ve also been having a lot of thoughts lately about similarities in the techniques of writing memoir and historical fiction, and their distinction from straight up non-fiction, but that’s a WHOLE other post. Let me know in the comments if you’d like to hear those thoughts in the future, though.)

All this to say: it makes me wonder if that’s just how our storybrains work. If we make sense of the world and our experiences by simply reworking it into a narrative format we can understand; where there’s familiar pacing and a structural rise and fall and a logical convergence of subplots.

And can we recognise the weaving of stories within our own lives, as they’re happening, or only when we’re looking back? Can we ascribe meaning to our daily losses and successes, and find lessons in them, even if our plucky protagonist doesn’t always win? Because in these cathartic and sometimes tragic memoirs, the authors always manage to find hope and strength and purpose in what they’ve experienced — which is exactly what a great memoir should do, of course, and perhaps why they’re so enriching to read.

Photo by Claudio Schwarz on Unsplash

Oof. Alright. That one got a bit deep. Let’s finish up with one final lesson from my own writing, which is likely to be less ponderous and more deadline-induced-panic.

Lesson #4: Say it faster

I spent three solid days (like, sunrise to near-midnight) intensely finishing up a draft of my screenplay pilot for a very close deadline (23 minutes to spare) and had to cut A LOT. Not just words, but entire PAGES.

And yes, it was a ballache, and yes, it was a challenge, and yes, I immediately came down with a horrific cold the minute I clicked ‘submit’, but this is yet another reason why I love editing — because boy does it make you do the work.

I also found myself muttering the same phrase as I went over and over my draft, slicing and hacking and paring and streamlining:

Say it faster.

And by that, I don’t mean ‘rush the story’ or ‘skip straight to the action’ or ‘kill ALL your darlings!’ — but so often we overwrite that first draft, or take a little extra time to find our footing, or write around the point to check it from every angle, or reiterate the same point just to be sure.

But by the time you come to edit, you (should) know where you need to get to. You (should) know what you want to say. So… get there faster. Head towards the crux of each scene decisively. Don’t get distracted along the way. Figure out the minimal viable info needed to get you there, and dive right in, slick as an otter.

Oh, and say it ONCE. So much of cutting is simply paying attention to your lagging and repetition habits. We all do it — the extraneous reiteration of the same thought or idea or response — for example a description and a gesture and an inner thought and an expression and a line of dialogue that all ostensibly say the same thing. Pick the most effective one (two at a push) and say it once, say it faster, and streamline that sucker.

Anywho, I learned a valuable editing lesson, my script got submitted, and onward we go — with my own projects and the wonderful work I’m reading for work.

And January is almost OVER. Thank. Frank.

Frank, my script supervisor.

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That’s all for now — thanks for reading!

I’m hoping to post up a few different kinds of content while I find my feet here — writing prompts, exercises, Q&As, favourite books and stories etc — but I like the idea of a monthly round-up of writing/editing lessons... Let me know if you enjoyed it, if you’d like to see something else, or if you have a question relating to writing, redrafting and editing.

Want to work with me?

You can totally do that. I’m available for editing, feedback, creative development and mentoring from March onward, so please drop me a line if you have a writing project that needs fresh eyes, a friendly ear, and perhaps a gentle kick up the arse. I’m here for all of it. Get in touch here »