There is no 'Right way' to write...

...so why can't we stop ourselves looking for one? Part 1: Process.

As a creative writing mentor I am often asked to define the ‘right way’ of doing something: what’s the right way to start or end a story? what’s the best time to write? how do you make a poem ‘work’?

You get the picture. Perhaps you have even asked those questions yourself, I know I have.

The questions usually fall into two categories: what you write, and the process of writing. And the answer is common to both: there is no right way.

PART 1 - Process

Take process. The idea that you should be able to sit down at your desk each day with a rigid routine is - for the vast majority of us - myth or hokum, as Elif Shafak brilliantly illustrates here. What works well for Haruki Murakami (breakfast => coffee => writing 1,500 words => running => jazz) won’t work for the rest of us, either practically or psychologically. If not both. Indeed, it may only work for him.

And there’s the rub - or the joy of it, depending on your perspective. What works for you in terms of process - the combination of when you write, where you write, how you write (pen, pencil, laptop etc.) - will most likely only work for you. We are each individuals with our unique pressures, environments and so forth; finding a writing process (whatever you take that to mean) is a little like designing a jigsaw puzzle piece that will fit perfectly into the rest of your life’s puzzle.

So don’t ask someone like me what the right process is for you - because I can’t possibly know. Make suggestions, yes; but give a definitive answer? I don’t think so.

“But how do I find the process that fits me, my circumstances, my personality?” That’s a much better question - though the answer is only marginally more satisfactory…

Trial and error.

You have to try and fail, then try and fail again. And again. Then one day you will hopefully land on something that works.

I used to challenge myself to write a minimum number of words a day, or a chapter a week. I was obsessed with measuring progress; it’s part of my professional background and psyche. So I would build spreadsheet after spreadsheet to track my journey, yet only succeeded in demonstrating my failure. It’s easy to say that you’re going to write 500 words a day; indeed, it might feel good to do so. But execution’s a different thing.

When the daily targets didn’t work, I moved them to weekly. Fail. When I removed targets altogether, fail. So over the years (and it has been years!) I tried different methods to keep track of progress because I remained convinced doing so was important for momentum and self-esteem. I’m still convinced progress-tracking is important - important for me.

Over the last two or three years I have settled on measuring time. At first it was time writing, but now this has morphed into time spent on ‘writing-related activity’, my premise being that all writing-related activity is valuable in moving me forward as a writer. (Note: I exclude reading, though you may not of course..!) So my Substack time - like drafting this post - counts as much as writing a short story or a poem. And I have a goal of how much writing-related work I’d like to spend on average per day per month. Given this is what I do now (and I know I’m lucky to be able to think of it as ‘work’) 3.5 hours per day feels acceptable. This month I’m a little down, but I know why and I don’t beat myself up about it.

Forgiving failure is a critical aspect of being able to move forward.

I also categorise that time in terms of actual creative writing vs. my publishing activity with Coverstory books vs. outward-facing activity (like Substack, my website, my podcast) vs. sundry items like writing groups or entering competitions. It’s not a perfect system, but it has had the desired effect. Indeed, the fact that I haven’t significantly changed it for quite a while demonstrates as much.

Should you try it? Is it the answer to at least part of your question about process? It might be. And if you think that, maybe give it a try. But if your brain isn’t wired that way, then maybe not.

My underlying message is that in order to find the writing process that works for you, you need to rule out the ones that don’t. And the only way you can do either - find or rule out - is to try things. And don’t forget, you may be one of those people who absolutely doesn’t need anything even remotely rigid when it comes to process. And that’s just fine too.

Writing is a never-ending apprenticeship