The Whale Belly

I’ve long struggled with a nagging emptiness when constructing a story beyond the initial setup. Someone could be hanging off a cliff by a fingertip, but it still felt hollow and uninteresting. I’ve learned that some larger theme that is indirectly tied to the events of the story is necessary to imbue events with significance, so, for example, a woman hanging from a cliff by her fingertips might also have gone through some great betrayal, and the story is really about her disillusionment with people close to her, the cliff being conceptualized metaphorically. This imbues the events with something shared with humanity, even if the actual action is unusual.

But I don’t think I would have come to my current story idea by forcing it like some algebraic proof memorized in high school. The time I spent churning out words played a part in making the story feel inevitable and gave me the sense of confidence to pursue it. Otherwise I would do what I always do, come up with a premise, write it down, and have no idea how or why I should pursue it. But now, for the first time in a long time, I find myself thinking about the story all day, thinking through problems, taking notes, slowly and steadily building.

I read an interview with Joyce Carol Oates, who has been staggeringly prolific throughout her career. Her writing process begins with notes — tons of notes — usually dwarfing her final product by hundreds of pages. And because she writes so much, she doesn’t get distracted by what she could be writing; she’s able to focus on one piece at a time until it’s done. I found this inspiring because it was proof that such a focus was even possible, and the way it’s done is by investing in many, many hours of prewriting and note-taking.

The pressures of deadlines help some people write, but for me — someone takes writing too seriously and who rightly or wrongly places much of their self-value in their ability to write — deadlines deprive me of the time to ferment a rich idea. I don’t need pressure to sit down and write words, but I do need time to write idly while an idea emerges from somewhere beneath my conscious awareness.

In my doctoral studies I was tasked with writing twenty to forty page papers for each of my classes while simultaneously working on a dissertation proposal and submitting to academic journals on the side. It’s no wonder that I eventually ran out of things to say and met with a solid wall of writer’s block. I think if I would have had a better understanding of the importance of prewriting and note-taking, more faith in this mysterious part of the process that never see the light of day, I wouldn’t have been forced to drop out. When the pressure rose too high, I kicked at a brick wall when I should have patiently knocked at the door.

So, my new approach is patient knocking, and when I receive an answer I will engage the person at the door until I’ve asked all my questions.