Process not Product

Process not product was my mantra for a long time. It was my way of reminding myself that the goal of writing is not just a finished product but is mostly about the process of creation.

I find it particularly useful when starting a new project. I’m often so eager to get out of the limbo of endless possibilities that I jump on the first idea that comes up and run with it. Nothing wrong with experimenting with that idea but I need to keep open to the magic of writing. And allow other potentials be entertained and played with.

The mantra is also helpful when my focus is I need to get this done. I want a finished product/story. Feeling this way, I am generally unwilling to consider any path than the one I am fixated on. When a better ending or a more interesting by-way might be just beyond my tunnel vision.

I know that this sounds as if I’m advocating an infinite wandering in the woods, never settling, never deciding. But I’m not. I am urging remaining open to the creative process which lies within all of us.

What process are we talking about?

So, this is going to be hard to describe. But I know I am in the process when I stop trying to force myself down a certain writing path or story; when I let go and sink into that deep place from which all flows. The calm home that may grant entrance to supplicants but not invaders. Patience and waiting and silence. Just letting it happen, just letting it happen as it is going to. I can’t always drop into that place but when I do, I emerge with something silver. Whether fish or chalice, to be determined.

I’m not sure I can do any better than that to describe the mental state but I hope you have a sense of what I’m talking about.

How do I get there?

Another hard bit. I suspect that everyone’s ability to trust the process manifests itself in different ways. The best I can do is recall a time when I felt it to see if it resonates with you.

I was writing a long short story of a chef and kept adding characters and events with no real end point in mind. I was trying to follow what I was feeling and keep at bay the ‘this isn’t working,’ ‘it’s isn’t going anywhere’ stuff. Without any assurance of anything else to replace those thoughts, of course. Just rolling with what came up.

And then, suddenly, all the disparate elements came together. The chef’s partner becomes the impetus for change; a rival chef shows the way; the downtrodden sous-chef creates the moment when the chef changes. It was unimaginably exciting to feel the pieces, which had previously been floating off on their own, coalesce into a satisfying and seemingly inevitable whole.

Why does it matter?

Remaining open to the magic of the writing process can have wonderful moments such as I just described. But more importantly, it matters because when I am in the process, whatever it is, I know I am writing from my true self. For one brief moment, I am putting into words who I really am. That may come out in how a character reacts or a scene evolves, but whatever it is, it is me.

Does this sound all over the place and even a little woo-woo? I know. That’s the magic of writing.

Better and Better

Better and better. In theory, nobody would disagree that we all need to be better writers. But I think this post will be relatively unpopular because the method I propose isn’t what any of us want to hear.

New writers are often tortured by the idea that they need to get their writing into publication immediately. I’ve had people say, ‘What am I going to do with all this stuff?’

On the one hand, I understand this. Writers by and large write in order to be read. If not, then it’s just a time-consuming way of navel gazing. On the other hand, I think it’s the wrong question.

The right question

It reminds me of when I started Tai Chi. 108 moves. I asked the instructor, “How long before I know all the moves?” She smiled, “There’s a saying in tai chi: for each of the 108 moves, there are 108 refinements.”

“Yeah,” I persisted, “But when will I know all 108 at the first level?”

I don’t think I ever got an answer and I do remember being a bit ticked at her. I’m a busy person, after all. I need to know so I can schedule things in.

After a long while, I realized that she hadn’t answered because it was the wrong question. Tai chi is not about mastery in the way that we North Americans understand the word, with its implication of being able to walk away from it once conquered. Tai chi is about the process of doing the moves, about the ability to be in that moment and not, as I was wont to do, cast ahead to other tasks waiting. You’ll get better the more you do it, but it is not about getting to the top of the mountain. Getting better is the goal.

The philosophy of better and better

In writing, I have often urged you to slow down to SHOW your characters in action rather than merely do a trust-me-this-is-true TELL.

I’m asking you to do the same in your writing practice. Slow down. Writing is a life-time habit to develop; one which can bring you fulfillment and joy at any point in your life. Invest the time in getting better and better as a writer. Learn new ways to approach your project. Experiment with different ways in. Writing is not about the end point; it is about the process.

This sits hard with people who think their goal is publication. Would-be writers have told me that they’d embark on the journey if they knew they’d be published in the end. Well, yeah, wouldn’t we all? But the essence of a creative endeavor is that you must have created a tangible product before anyone can interact with it. And creativity flourishes as you continue to improve your ability to say what you intend on the page.

So remember, 108 refinements on 108 techniques.

Because I know that this is a tough area, the next post will be on a related topic: Process Not Product.