How do I write? Honestly, the seed of a story is often something I’ve heard. It sticks with me like one of those seeds you find under a maple tree, the ones with the helicopter wings that kids paste on their noses. Only in this case, the seed has various sources and may come out of nowhere. It might originate from a remark I heard on the radio in the car. Or from an account by the stranger beside me on a plane. Or from fragments recounted over time by a colleague or friend or family member in settings as grand as a mountain hike or as pedestrian as an office cafeteria. Or the seed could be something overheard. A snippet of conversation on a subway platform.
Usually I write down the story in longhand. Marble notebooks are my friend because they don’t mind cross-outs and arrows pointing to the margins. This is unlike the pretty journals I’ve brought home from South America and Japan which resist utility, preferring my admiration and my hope that one day they may contain my best work yet.
I work at the kitchen table, which feels more conducive to messes than an office desk. From the marble notebook, I type the story into my laptop, cleaning up the draft as I go, expanding or cutting. If it’s a longer work, I’ll often see a better way to structure the story. After many drafts, a story may at last feel ready to read aloud, which lets me catch more mistakes than reading silently. Based on this, I’ll edit further, then print the story out, and bring it along on my commute. I travel by train, the most writer-friendly mode of transportation around. Reviewing the story in this public setting, knee-to-knee with another passenger – a potential reader – makes me aware that the work is out and about in the world. Suddenly I’ll see more blemishes. Sometimes it’s a terrible breakout. It’s like realizing I’ve gone out without make up on!
After smoothing out these blemishes, a story may at last feel “done.” But sometimes it’s not done. It’s just not there. When this happens, I may put the work away for a few months so I can someday have a fresh look. Some stories I have shoved in a drawer or put in a paper file for years before I feel drawn to take the work out and read it anew.
The novelist Sheila Kohler has been one of my biggest inspirations. Cracks may be my favorite book. Mary Morris’s memoir Nothing to Declare also spoke to me when I was just starting out. These books are even more meaningful to me because I’ve had the good fortune to know these authors and feel their support over the years.
No matter the source of the story, the outcome is my own creation, something that has been worked and reworked until it holds some kind of truth to me. This in itself feels rewarding.
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