One Word in Front of the Other
A Foolproof Method for Drafting Anything Fast
I have a theory.
I mean I have a lot of theories and they are all bangers, one after the other. I spend a lot of time thinking. The only time I stop thinking is when I take a Xanax and I only get ten Xanax a month. Shelf Life is nothing if not a chronicle of my nonstop stream of consciousness.
Here’s the theory: If you know enough words to read a story, then you know enough words to write a story. If you know enough words to read a novel, then you know enough words to write a novel. You already know all the words you need. All you have to do to write a novel is put those words in the correct order.
Is it easier said than done? Maybe. But consider: If you can say something you can write it. So, no, in that respect it’s not easier said than done.
When I write a short story, I’m usually able to hold most of it in my head all at once and then I can just patiently transcribe the story in my head to paper and what results is something very close to what I want the finished story to be. I still revise them but they rarely need major revision. Mostly just tweaks here and there. They largely spring from my brain fully formed like Athena from her father’s head, with the language just about how I want it.
That is not how I write a longer form work. In today’s Shelf Life I am going to tell you exactly how I do that. It may not be the method that ultimately works for you but it’s a method for your consideration. That’s all.
When I write a work that is longer than about 7,000 words, I can’t hold the whole thing in my head. There’s a cutoff point. Seven thousand words or fewer, I can hold that image in my head. That’s only seven pictures after all, if a picture is worth a thousand words. More than 7,000 words—impossible.
I can hold one part in my head, fully formed, at a time. That might be a complete scene in all its detail or it might be the whole plot from end to end or it might be all of somebody’s character development arc but I’m definitely not keeping all of that in my head at one time. At least, not in the front of mind where it can be easily transcribed.
This leaves me two options for how to write my longform work and I have used both but today I’m going to talk about this technique I call Iliading it. Herewith, you may find a passage from Homer’s Iliad. I apologize in advance for subjecting you to this.
Now will I tell the captains of the ships and the ships in their order. Of the Boeotians Peneleos and Leïtus were captains, and Arcesilaus and Prothoënor and Clonius; these were they that dwelt in Hyria and rocky Aulis and Schoenus and Scolus and Eteonus with its many ridges, Thespeia, Graea, and spacious Mycalessus; and that dwelt about Harma and Eilesium and Erythrae; and that held Eleon and Hyle and Peteon, Ocalea and Medeon, the well-built citadel, Copae, Eutresis, and Thisbe, the haunt of doves; that dwelt in Coroneia and grassy Haliartus, and that held Plataea and dwelt in Glisas; that held lower Thebe, the well-built citadel, and holy Onchestus, the bright grove of Poseidon; and that held Arne, rich in vines, and Mideia and sacred Nisa and Anthedon on the seaboard. Of these there came fifty ships, and on board of each went young men of the Boeotians an hundred and twenty.
In Book 2 of The Iliad, Homer goes on like this for some length while he tells you who all from Greece went over to Troy to fight in the Trojan War. He literally is like “Okay get ready here comes a catalog of all the people and which ship they were on and how many there were and who were the captains of each ship.” This goes on for about 4,000 words. Then, boom, we’re in Troy. That’s why we sacrificed Iphigenia, so we could get to Troy in one quick transition.
Which princess do you have to murder sacrifice around here to skip the part about the manifest of every single boat?
Homer made a grave mistake, which is that he skipped his major revision. This is definitely a chapter you find in revision and go “whoa I was writing too fast I need to retell this but in an interesting way” but Homer simply did not do that, he was like “oh shoot my agent is waiting better send this clay tablet off as-is.”
The reason I call this fast method of drafting Iliading is because my goal is to do exactly what Homer did in Book 2 of The Iliad except that I will remember to fix it in revision.
Basically what I do is I start drafting almost a catalog of actions. It’s all plot, no vibes. Not much character development, not much worldbuilding, no elegant prose, just a chronicle of who is where and doing what. This does not result in anything worth reading. It results in something about as dry and dusty as Book 2 of The Iliad. However, if I can hold the image of the whole plot in my head at once—without trying to also hold each scene in its complete and perfect form—then I can run headlong through the draft and knock words out really quickly.
Now: This does not mean that my rough draft doesn’t contain any elegant prose, or any word choices that will make it into the final, or any character development, or any well-drawn scenes—it just means I’m not pausing to fish for those things. If there’s something I don’t know, I gloss past it. Don’t have a name for this character yet? Just call her “the red-haired woman” twelve times in two pages. It’s fine. You can fix it later. You need a magical artifact but it’s going to require research to come up with one? Just type TKTKTK and keep moving. It’s fine. Nobody’s going to read this vomit pass.
When writing this quickly, I tend to skip over things that are important. I’ll mention a character who should have been introduced before, or I need an object or setpiece I didn’t describe when I set the scene, or something like that. Do I go backward to fill in what I missed? Nope, I just insert a comment in my document with a note to self like “the security guards need to be mentioned when Bob enters the warehouse” or “go back and take out the mention of the PowerPoint presentation” and then I keep on pressing forward.
What kind of car did someone drive? I don’t know and I’m not stopping to figure it out now. What’s the perfect word for the protagonist’s emotion? I don’t know, we’ll figure it out in revision. Where did this character go to college? I don’t know, I can look up some options later.
This method of writing is not going to appeal to all writers because many writers prefer the other method I mentioned, which is to draft a scene they have very vividly imprinted in their mind and then repeat the process until the entire story is told. Some of the writers I know will go in order through the story and others will skip around based on what they feel like writing at the time. This is a perfectly good drafting method and one I have also used.
However, if you find that your writing is hamstrung by chronic self-editing, this fast-and-dirty method may be one for you to try.
What do I mean by chronic self-editing? Consider whether your drafting is slowed down by any of the above:
Rewriting the same sentence multiple times until you have the wording exactly right.
Agonizing over character or place names or descriptions.
Going back to previous paragraphs of pages to edit a passage when you suddenly realize how you could have written it better.
If any of these sound like you, you may find that this method of drafting works really well to keep you moving in the right direction, with the momentum you want, through your story.
If you have questions that you'd like to see answered in Shelf Life, ideas for topics that you'd like to explore, or feedback on the newsletter, please feel free to contact me. I would love to hear from you.
For more information about who I am, what I do, and, most important, what my dog looks like, please visit my website.
After you have read a few posts, if you find that you're enjoying Shelf Life, please recommend it to your word-oriented friends.