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I was directed today toward an article about writing, and this particular paragraph jumped out at me:
"What is that something ineffable and how do I know this? I do not belong to some kind of occult organization with special séances on the magic of writing, unless you want to so describe, with some reason, the guild of scholars more generally. Everyone who has written at any substantial length, whether prose or poetry, knows that the process of writing itself leads to previously unthought thoughts. Or to be more precise, writing crystallizes previously half-formulated or unformulated thoughts, gives them form, and extends chains of thoughts in new directions. Neuroscience has shown that 95 percent of brain activity is unconscious. My guess about what happens is that by physically writing—whether by hand, by computer, or by voice activation (though I have no experience of the latter)—you set a process literally into motion, a kind of shifting series of triangulations between fingers, blank pages or screens, letters and words, eyes, synapses or other “neural instantiations,” not to mention guts and bladders. By writing, in other words, you are literally firing up your brain and therefore stirring up your conscious thoughts and something new emerges. You are not, or at least not always, transcribing something already present in your conscious thoughts. Is it any wonder that your neck gets stiff?"
I've emphasized the two sentences that really affected me as I think they're very true; no matter how much I plan a story or an essay, as soon as I start writing, other things happen and it goes in places I hadn't planned or even been aware of. and this, I think, is a big part of the thrill and joy of writing. Not only do I see new ideas forming on the page, but I also see new ways in which my brain works that I'm not even aware of!
As an FYI, this paragraph is part of an article written by Dr. Lynn Hunt, a professional historian, talking about writing history, but as she notes, it's the process of writing, regardless of the subject. The article also goes on to give one my favorite second arguments:
"Even as your pages proliferate like my grandmother’s radishes, they must be weeded and thinned out if they are to grow to an optimal size. Nothing is more important to writing than the weeding, thinning, mulching, and watering that is known as revision. Sometimes another eye provides the added sunlight needed for new growth. I have picked up countless tips about writing from the editors assigned the thankless task of improving my prose, whether in a scholarly book or a textbook. You can only really figure out what you think if you first put it on paper and then develop some distance from it. It has to be a part of yourself, but a part that you are willing to release from yourself. Most problems in writing come from the anxiety caused by the unconscious realization that what you write is you and has to be held out for others to see. You are naked and shivering out on that limb that seems likely to break off and bring you tumbling down into the ignominy of being accused of inadequate research, muddy unoriginal analysis, and clumsy writing."
I love the analogy here - especially since, as we know, the editing process is often very painful. We're trusting that part of ourselves out there to people we want to like us - our friends, people we respect in the fandom (and profession, if you're a professional writer), people we want to think well of us. Oddly, unlike in the professional world where you're going to get feedback from your peers before your book is even bought, much less published, in fandom I think the inverse argument is sometimes true: we're more afraid to let our friends and people we respect comment on our stories before we through them out for the whole world because we *don't* want to know what they think of us 'naked'.
But - either way, it's an interesting way to start the day, thinking about process. And the reminder that some people make a living doing this!
If you want to see the whole article, with its direct applications to writing history, it's here.
"What is that something ineffable and how do I know this? I do not belong to some kind of occult organization with special séances on the magic of writing, unless you want to so describe, with some reason, the guild of scholars more generally. Everyone who has written at any substantial length, whether prose or poetry, knows that the process of writing itself leads to previously unthought thoughts. Or to be more precise, writing crystallizes previously half-formulated or unformulated thoughts, gives them form, and extends chains of thoughts in new directions. Neuroscience has shown that 95 percent of brain activity is unconscious. My guess about what happens is that by physically writing—whether by hand, by computer, or by voice activation (though I have no experience of the latter)—you set a process literally into motion, a kind of shifting series of triangulations between fingers, blank pages or screens, letters and words, eyes, synapses or other “neural instantiations,” not to mention guts and bladders. By writing, in other words, you are literally firing up your brain and therefore stirring up your conscious thoughts and something new emerges. You are not, or at least not always, transcribing something already present in your conscious thoughts. Is it any wonder that your neck gets stiff?"
I've emphasized the two sentences that really affected me as I think they're very true; no matter how much I plan a story or an essay, as soon as I start writing, other things happen and it goes in places I hadn't planned or even been aware of. and this, I think, is a big part of the thrill and joy of writing. Not only do I see new ideas forming on the page, but I also see new ways in which my brain works that I'm not even aware of!
As an FYI, this paragraph is part of an article written by Dr. Lynn Hunt, a professional historian, talking about writing history, but as she notes, it's the process of writing, regardless of the subject. The article also goes on to give one my favorite second arguments:
"Even as your pages proliferate like my grandmother’s radishes, they must be weeded and thinned out if they are to grow to an optimal size. Nothing is more important to writing than the weeding, thinning, mulching, and watering that is known as revision. Sometimes another eye provides the added sunlight needed for new growth. I have picked up countless tips about writing from the editors assigned the thankless task of improving my prose, whether in a scholarly book or a textbook. You can only really figure out what you think if you first put it on paper and then develop some distance from it. It has to be a part of yourself, but a part that you are willing to release from yourself. Most problems in writing come from the anxiety caused by the unconscious realization that what you write is you and has to be held out for others to see. You are naked and shivering out on that limb that seems likely to break off and bring you tumbling down into the ignominy of being accused of inadequate research, muddy unoriginal analysis, and clumsy writing."
I love the analogy here - especially since, as we know, the editing process is often very painful. We're trusting that part of ourselves out there to people we want to like us - our friends, people we respect in the fandom (and profession, if you're a professional writer), people we want to think well of us. Oddly, unlike in the professional world where you're going to get feedback from your peers before your book is even bought, much less published, in fandom I think the inverse argument is sometimes true: we're more afraid to let our friends and people we respect comment on our stories before we through them out for the whole world because we *don't* want to know what they think of us 'naked'.
But - either way, it's an interesting way to start the day, thinking about process. And the reminder that some people make a living doing this!
If you want to see the whole article, with its direct applications to writing history, it's here.