Day 15: Pursuing Wisdom

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In the last post, I wrote about how I work with writers who want to tell stories that matter and that these are stories engaged in wisdom transmission. That sounds good, but how do we gain and transmit wisdom?

I wouldn’t claim to be wise—I took that lesson from Kansas a long time ago—but I aspire to it because trying to do and be better makes sense to me. It seems odd to to suggest there is only one way to become wise because we don’t know enough about all there is to know to make that call.

But here’s my current working hypothesis based on my experience: We pursue wisdom by metabolizing the events of our lives to gain greater perspective so we can tell a coherent and meaningful story. 

And this dovetails with what I wrote yesterday. When we all share those coherent stories, we gain greater perspective on what ails us, how to understand it, and how to make things a little better. We also come to see one another more clearly, which helps us to be in relationship.

This is the project I’m engaged in, what I’m doing and pursuing, but why is this relevant to you? Even if my point of view doesn’t resonate with you, I hope this will get you thinking about what matters most to you and why you write. To write a story readers love, we must choose a perspective to explore—either implicitly or explicitly. This is just common sense. If we’re taking a journey, it helps to know where we’re going and why. 

This post is part of a 75-day writing challenge and experiment. From September 9 through November 22, I'll be posting daily thoughts on writing, storytelling, and creativity based on recent readings or reflections. While my intention was to keep them very short—250 to 400 words—I've found that this range doesn't give me enough space to cover these topics adequately. I aim to keep them brief enough to be read quickly, but they will typically be longer than 400 words.

Day 14: Where Is This Going?

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Lately, I’ve been coming home to what has driven me since before I started Writership but didn’t fully realize until recently. 

My goal has always been to help writers tell stories they can be proud of and that readers love. But a larger mission has become clear to me in the last few years. The clue is in a line on my website: I help fiction and nonfiction clients write epic stories that matter. 

That has felt right, but I haven’t talked about what I mean when I say a story that matters.

Stories that matter are ones that engage in the narrative transmission of wisdom. 

A story is set in a particular world where events unfold and people take action in response. Beyond that, a story crafted in a certain way offers more than an entertaining read. It provides a perspective about what’s a good or bad approach to a specific problem. 

Stories are about how things change and how the protagonist metabolizes that change and responds in the face of uncertainty. In the action and resulting resolution, we find a perspective on how to face change and uncertainty ourselves. Even if we disagree, it forces us to consider and offers an opportunity to grow. 

This is the narrative transition of wisdom. It’s not a new idea, but it’s why I show up at my desk every day. So when I ask myself where this is all going, my answer is I help writers craft stories that illuminate human experience so we can meet the challenges we face. This is what matters to me.

This post is part of a 75-day writing challenge and experiment. From September 9 through November 22, I'll be posting daily thoughts on writing, storytelling, and creativity based on recent readings or reflections. While my intention was to keep them very short—250 to 400 words—I've found that this range doesn't give me enough space to cover these topics adequately. I aim to keep them brief enough to be read quickly, but they will typically be longer than 400 words. 

Day 13: Exploring the Problem of the Premise

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Once you have identified your story’s premise and its essence, the next step is to build on that firm foundation and use what you already know about the story to figure out what we don’t yet know. In a series of explorations, we’ll figure out the who, what, where, when, how, and why of the story (not necessarily in that order). 

First, write the story, as far as you know it right now in a paragraph or two. Keep it simple, just sketch out what you know.  

Next, we focus on the problem of the premise. This is a focus on what. What is the nature of the challenge the protagonist faces?

To get to the bottom of this, we answer a few questions.

  • What is the problem from your premise that your protagonist faces? 

  • Why is this a problem for the protagonist?

  • What is the external source(s) of their problem? 

  • How does the protagonist first become aware of this problem? 

Example

  • Problem: In my Wreck of the Ten Sail example, the protagonist, William Lawford, must conduct a rescue and salvage mission after ten ships run aground off of Grand Cayman Island. 

  • Why is this a problem? Because his ship is wrecked, it means the mission is unsuccessful, and he will face a court martial inquiry into the loss of the ships. But his immediate problem is rescuing the sailors from the wrecked ship. They will need to be fed and housed until they can be evacuated. He must also see to the other vessels that didn’t run aground and begin a salvage mission to recover as much of the cargo as possible. 

  • Source: The environment including the ocean currents and weather pose a danger. The merchant captains are antagonists whose behavior meant some ships were lured onto the reef. The locals on Grand Cayman Island don’t have the resources to take in so many sailors and want them gone. French Navy ships or privateers could appear while the convoy is vulnerable. 

  • How does the protagonist become aware of the problem? During the voyage at night, one of the ships in the convoy signals for help because they have run aground. 


This is not the end of the exploration on this point. We’ll need to expand and refine these ideas and come at the problem from different angles. More on that soon.

This post is part of a 75-day writing challenge and experiment. From September 9 through November 22, I'll be posting daily thoughts on writing, storytelling, and creativity based on recent readings or reflections. While my intention was to keep them very short—250 to 400 words—I've found that this range doesn't give me enough space to cover these topics adequately. I aim to keep them brief enough to be read quickly, but they will typically be longer than 400 words. 

Day 12: Uncovering Your Story’s Essence

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When you know what your story is really about, you can make more effective decisions—from macro decisions, like point of view and content, to micro decisions, like the nouns and verbs used to describe events. This clarity increases the probability of creating a coherent story. Coherence in the context of storytelling is the internal harmony of an integrated whole, aligned parts within that whole, and functions that cooperate and are in sync. In other words, every element of the story sends the message you want to send. 

Before we can decide on the best way to send the signal, we need to get clear on what signal we want to send. I'll walk through the steps here and show how I used them to develop the story idea based on the Wreck of the Ten Sail. 

1. Identify Your Core Idea

Articulate your initial story concept, focusing on the basic elements of person, place, and problem. This is about considering all the raw material: the story details we're drawn to initially, but also our experiences and the stories we've read and watched throughout our lives. Our story is a response to all of that. The first step in converting this material to a story readers love is identifying the person, place, and problem of the story. That is your premise.

Example:

- Person: Captain William Lawford

- Place: Caribbean Sea

- Problem: Rescue and salvage mission

2. Ask "Why" Repeatedly

Ask a series of "why" questions, at least five. This helps uncover deeper motivations and connections to the story. We're interrogating the premise to get to the bottom of what's driving us. When we answer the question at first, we tend to come up with derivative stuff that's already been done. We're relying on short-term memory for these quick answers. Instead, we want to head for the deeper recesses of the mind. Continuing to ask "why" helps us go there. 

Consider these questions:

- Why is this person's experience of interest to me? What are the qualities of that person that matter to me? 

- Why do I want the story to unfold in this place? What is it about this specific environment that I'm interested in? 

- Why this problem? What is it about this situation that makes me want to build a whole story around it? 

- When I think of the events I want to dramatize through the story, why do I care? 

Example:

- Nautical setting

- The scale: Managing a convoy of over 50 ships is a massive undertaking.

- The context: It's 1794, and Great Britain is at war with France, adding danger to the journey.

- The challenge: Lawford faced factors beyond his control, like impatient merchant captains rushing ahead.

- The responsibility: As the convoy's leader, Lawford bore immense responsibility for lives and cargo.

- The aftermath: Despite the initial failure, Lawford managed to save most of the crew members.

- Exploring how we solve complicated issues

- How we meet needs and resolve conflict

- Solving problems with limited resources

- Recovering from disaster and mission failure

- Leaving a situation better than you found it

3. Explore Key Themes

Look for the themes and patterns that emerge from your responses. We're trying to extract the gestalt or the whole that is greater than the sum of its parts from the data of our responses. Something in the background comes into focus in the foreground.

Another way to look at this is through the lens of "the what, so what, now what." The "what" are our responses to the why questions. Then we ask, so what? We try to make sense of what we're seeing by looking for similarities and differences. 

Example:

- The complexity and scale of the challenge

- Responsibility and leadership 

- Conflicts between moral standards and other values

- Adapting to failure

4. Connect to Universal Human Experiences

Think about how the story relates to broader, timeless human issues or experiences. Stories resonate with readers not just because they are exciting but also because they explore universal human needs—like those that Maslow identified—and the problems we face trying to meet them. At this point, you have a better idea of why you care about the story, but we want to consider why someone without your relationship to the story would care.

Example:

- Problem-solving in a new place

- Letting go of hopes and plans when disaster strikes

- Making a positive impact despite setbacks after a disaster happens

5. Consider Contemporary Relevance

Reflect on how your story, even if historical or set in a fantastical universe, connects to current issues or challenges.

Example:

- How do we solve seemingly intractable problems when our current tools and worldview are inadequate?

6. Distill the Essence

Craft a concise statement (1-2 sentences) that captures the core of your story idea, including the main character, central conflict, and key themes. From all of this material, you're going to do another distillation to create a sentence or two that captures the essence of the story for you. The elements of the premise will be there, but you'll add qualifiers to make it specific and capture the nature of the challenge you want to explore. 

Example:

"A young captain facing a catastrophic failure must navigate not just treacherous waters, but also human nature and his own limitations, to find a new way forward and leave a positive mark on the world."

7. Reflect and Refine

The story's essence is a starting point. Your first draft probably won't be the last word on the subject. Sleep on it. Write it on an index card and carry it around with you. Look up the definitions of the words you're using and check out a thesaurus to see if there is a word that is even more precise.  

Tips for Applying the Steps

1. Customize the process for you. We all come to the work a little differently. Try following the steps as presented here, but use what you know about yourself and the way you work to modify this process. 

2. Understand it's an iterative process. The list of steps as I'm showing them here is a little deceptive because it's not a linear trip from point A to point B to point C. Your thinking on any given question may change as you go further. You might say that's a feature, not a bug. By returning to the questions over and over, you'll gain new insights that will bring you closer to your story's essence. 

3. Hold it lightly. If you've been thinking about your story idea for a long time, you may feel like all the details are vital to the story you want to tell. Maybe that's true, but it may not be. I've worked with a writer who was convinced she wanted to write a crime story, but it turns out she was more interested in the secrets people hide and the stories they tell themselves and others.

4. Navigate the tricky parts:

   - Finding the right questions that will unlock the essence of your story. It helps to imagine you are wearing a different hat when you formulate the questions and when you answer them—or even sit in a different place. I know some people might find this silly, but a change in context can significantly alter how we perceive things. 

   - Taking your time when answering. Don't settle for the first thing that comes to mind. Writing practice is a great way to explore these questions in depth. Remember, there's no single right answer. The goal is to uncover what's most meaningful to you about your story idea.

5. Remember this is about prioritization. Your story can't be all things to all people. I know you want to appeal to a wide audience, but if we try to make it universal, it will be a muddled mess. There will be no clear signal that you are sending, and the reader won't be able to slip into the narrative dream. The key is to get very specific about what you care about and then build on that. 

This framework simplifies the complex process of clarifying what you want to communicate through your story. If you stick with the process, you'll uncover the essence of your story idea. If you did nothing more, you'd already be able to write a better story than you could without this understanding. That's because the vision of the story that you hold in your mind will naturally conform to the essence. There's still a lot more we can do to send your unique signal to your readers successfully, but this is a first step that puts you on the right path.

This post is part of a 75-day writing challenge and experiment. From September 9 through November 22, I'll be posting daily thoughts on writing, storytelling, and creativity based on recent readings or reflections. While my intention was to keep them very short—250 to 400 words—I've found that this range doesn't give me enough space to cover these topics adequately. I aim to keep them brief enough to be read quickly, but they will typically be longer than 400 words.

Day 11: Exploring a Story Idea Part 2

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In yesterday's post, I shared a story idea and how I responded to the five "why" questions to help uncover what's essential to me in that idea. Today, I want to go a little further and show how I continued to think about my answers and distill the information into a concise statement about my story's essence.

Key Themes and Considerations

  1. Complexity and Leadership: The scale of the Wreck of the Ten Sail and Captain Lawford's position explore a leader's responsibility under extreme pressure when lives are at stake, especially when dealing with factors beyond one's control. I'm particularly interested in how people maintain a high moral code in these circumstances, regardless of others' actions. This raises questions about:

    • How do leaders avoid situational ethics?

    • What happens when they must choose between their moral standards and other important values?

  2. Adapting to Failure: This theme speaks to resilience, adapting to conditions as they are (not as we would like them to be), and the ability to redefine success in the face of adversity. I'm reminded of Brandon Sanderson's epic fantasy stories, favorites of mine, where protagonists often inadvertently help the villain despite their best efforts and integrity. The question of how we choose to go on after such a disaster is intriguing to me.

  3. Relevance to Current Issues: The historical context provides emotional distance from our contemporary problems, enabling us to think through challenges in a more detached way. While not a strict allegory, the story would explore problems we still encounter, offering perspectives on how to begin to solve seemingly insurmountable issues.

  4. Universal Themes: I'm especially interested in problem-solving in uncharted territory, when the protagonist is far from home and must let go of everything they hoped and planned for due to unforeseen circumstances. How do we not just survive a disaster but make a positive impact despite setbacks?

The Story's Essence

Putting all of this together, what's essential in this story idea is human resilience and ingenuity in the face of overwhelming odds, unfolding amid a dramatic historical event. It's about duty, adaptation, and the power of human connection and understanding to overcome seemingly impossible challenges.

This essence could be distilled into:

"A young captain facing a catastrophic failure must navigate not just treacherous waters, but also human nature and his own limitations, to find a new way forward and leave a positive mark on the world."

This captures what is most important for me in this premise: the person (young captain), place (at sea, in a crisis), and problem (managing the aftermath of a disaster), while also suggesting the deeper themes and transformations I want to explore.

Moving Forward

I'll continue to consider this story essence as I work with the idea. It's not set in stone at this point. As I work through the narrative cartography process, I may make adjustments as I continue to explore. When in its final form, I'll use it as a touchstone to ensure that the story world, every character, and scene supports the message I want to convey.

By sharing this process, I hope to illuminate not just how to develop a historical fiction story, but how to uncover the deeper meanings and universal themes that can make any story resonate with readers on multiple levels.

Tomorrow, I'll pull out the lessons in this process to help you find your own story's essence.


Day 10: Exploring a Story Idea—The Wreck of the Ten Sail

Image courtesy of Illustra, bigtock.com

To follow up on yesterday’s post about our story’s essence, I want to share my process of exploring a story idea based on a historical event: the Wreck of the Ten Sail. This naval disaster occurred in 1794 when Captain William Lawford of the Royal Navy was escorting a convoy of over 50 ships from the Caribbean to England. Near Grand Cayman Island, ten ships, including Lawford's, were lost. Let's dive into why this event captivates me and how I'm developing it into a story.

The Premise

  • Person: Captain William Lawford

  • Place: Caribbean Sea

  • Problem: Rescue and salvage mission

Why This Premise?

1. Why nautical events?

I'm drawn to sea adventures, both fictional and real. From Treasure Island to accounts of the Battle of Trafalgar, I find the vastness and chaos of the ocean captivating. There's something compelling about the courage required to leave the safety of land and face the uncertainties of the sea.

2. Why the Wreck of the Ten Sail specifically?

Several aspects of this event stand out:

  • The scale: Managing a convoy of over 50 ships is a massive undertaking.

  • The context: It's 1794, and Great Britain is at war with France, adding danger to the journey.

  • The challenge: Lawford faced factors beyond his control, like impatient merchant captains rushing ahead.

  • The responsibility: As the convoy's leader, Lawford bore immense responsibility for lives and cargo.

  • The aftermath: Despite the initial failure, Lawford managed to save most of the crew members.

3. Why tell this story now?

In our current world, we face many complex, seemingly unsolvable problems. This story explores how people have managed to overcome seemingly impossible challenges with limited resources. It's an opportunity to examine how we approach and solve big, complicated issues, especially after experiencing failure.

4. What's my unique perspective? Why AM I a Good Person to tell this story?

I want to explore the idea that our needs are not in conflict, but our methods of meeting those needs often are. Even "bad actors" typically act due to unmet needs. I believe that information and connection are key to overcoming many conflicts. While not directly related to naval matters, these themes will influence how my fictional Lawford approaches problem-solving.

5. Why DO I Think will this resonate with readers?

This story has the potential to be both exciting and thought-provoking. Universal themes include:

  • Solving problems with limited resources

  • Recovering from disaster and mission failure

  • Making positive efforts in dire circumstances

  • Leaving a situation better than you found it

While these ideas might appeal to a specific type of reader, an engaging narrative can make them accessible to a broader audience.

By exploring these questions, I'm uncovering deeper connections between myself, the historical event, and the potential story. I'm seeking emotional resonance in the themes and broader significance of this incident, which will guide my storytelling process.

(To be continued in Part 2)


Day 9: The Story's Essence—Getting to the Root of Your Story

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Today, let’s explore the concept of a story's essence. While it may initially seem like a vague, elusive idea, it's a powerful tool for writers at all stages of the storytelling process.

A story’s essence is the distillation of what's most important to you about your story, captured in a clear, pithy statement. It’s not the story itself, just as an essential oil isn’t the plant it comes from. Rather, it’s a fractal of the entire narrative, encapsulating its meaning to you as the writer.

This essence serves as your narrative North Star, guiding you through the journey from initial idea to coherent story. It helps you understand the experience you want to create for your reader, informing the countless decisions you'll make along the way. By getting clear on what the story means to you, you can then make it relevant to your audience through your storytelling choices.

The story essence becomes your definition of success—it’s what you truly want to communicate. If you execute it faithfully, providing readers with the intended experience, you've reached your goal. It’s your line in the sand, the one thing on which you should never compromise.

While your story’s essence is deeply meaningful to you, the challenge lies in making it resonate with readers. You do this by weaving the threads of your essence into a narrative fabric that readers recognize as a story of a particular kind, embedding universal storytelling patterns along the way.

Identifying your story’s essence can be challenging. Many writers, even successful ones, may not be consciously aware of this concept. They follow their instincts, often possessing unconscious competencies that guide their writing process.

To uncover your story’s essence, consider why you feel compelled to tell this particular story. But don't stop at the first answer. Borrowing from Sakichi Toyoda's problem-solving technique at Toyota Motor Corporation, ask “why” five times. This process helps you dig beneath the surface, moving past initial ideas to find what's truly essential to your story.

There are countless ways to spin an essence into a fully-fledged story. The key is to constrain your specific narrative in a way that enables you to write it effectively, while staying true to your core intention.

In tomorrow’s post, I'll share a practical example of how I used this process for a story idea. Stay tuned to see the concept in action!

This post is part of a 75-day writing challenge and experiment. From September 9 through November 22, I'll be posting daily thoughts on writing, storytelling, and creativity based on recent readings or reflections. While my intention was to keep them very short—250 to 400 words—I've found that this range doesn't give me enough space to cover these topics adequately. I aim to keep them brief enough to be read quickly, but they will typically be longer than 400 words. 


Day 8: High Concept Venn Diagram

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When writers try to describe their unique story to others it can be helpful to ground it in something familiar. For example, the 1994 thriller film Speed is described as Die Hard (1988) on a bus. Obviously these stories are not the same, but there are patterns or relationships that overlap within a venn diagram, and those similarities (as well as the differences) help us and others intuitively get what a story is about. We better understand something new and different in relation to something we’re already familiar with. Even if we’re not deeply familiar with the comparable stories, we can begin to get a sense of what the story is about—enough to tell if we’d be interested in finding out more.

This pithy description can help us pitch a story to an agent, publisher, or studio, but if we can collapse all our disparate ideas about our story into a simpler concept, we will get it at a deeper level. The better we understand our story—and the more we can distill the whole shebang into a concise statement—the easier it is to make decisions to craft a coherent story. Here are a couple of examples. 

Mistborn: The Final Empire by Brandon Sanderson: Sanderson set out to write a story he described this way: My Fair Lady (1964) meets Ocean’s 11 (2001) meets Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon (2000). The internal arc of the main character, Vin, follows Eliza Doolittle’s journey from flower girl to someone who can masquerade as a duchess at the embassy ball in My Fair Lady. The main plot of the story and the means by which the heroes defeat the main villain is a heist as in Ocean’s 11. And the magic system and action scenes mirror Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon. (If you’re not familiar with one of more these stories, you can glance at its synopsis on Wikipedia.)

A Man Called Ove by Fredrik Backman: The internal arc of Ove’s story is that of a selfish person withholding their unique gifts from the world to someone who shares their gifts unconditionally, similar to Scrooge’s journey in A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens. An unexpected mentor helps Ove recover after life loses meaning for him because of his personal and professional loss as in It’s a Wonderful Life (1946). Ove’s transformation plays out in mini-plot as he has a mostly positive impact on different characters within the context as in Love Actually (2003). (Again, if you’re not familiar with one or more of these stories, take a look at its synopsis on Wikipedia.)

What is the story you’re working on like? Can you describe your story as the intersection of two or more other stories?


This post is part of a 75-day writing challenge and experiment. From September 9 through November 22, I'll be posting daily thoughts on writing, storytelling, and creativity based on recent readings or reflections. While my intention was to keep them very short—250 to 400 words—I've found that this range doesn't give me enough space to cover these topics adequately. I aim to keep them brief enough to be read quickly, but they will typically be longer than 400 words.

Day 7: Where Do We Begin?

We start with the details of your story idea. 

Story ideas emerge from the raw material of our lives, including the people, places, events, and images we’ve experienced and observed, every story we’ve ever read, heard, or watched, as well as everything we have felt and thought about all of that. 

This is powerful prima materia, but it’s not in story form. It is of, by, and for us. We need to metabolize it and extract the elements that enable us to craft a story that communicates what we want to express to others. That means translating what is meaningful to us into a universal form that makes it meaningful to others while staying true to what’s most important to us.

The first step in that process is to boil the raw material down to a basic premise.

The basic premise is a high-level concept of our story that serves as a foundation. It consists of

  • a person

  • in a place

  • with a problem

Examples

  • The Hobbit: Bilbo Baggins, a hobbit at the top of the social hierarchy in the Shire in Middle Earth, is sent on a life-threatening mission.

  • The Body in the Library: Miss Jane Marple, an amateur detective in the village of St Mary Mead in the early 20th century, must solve a murder.

  • Pride and Prejudice: Elizabeth Bennett, a young unmarried woman without independent means in the village of Meryton in the Regency era, must marry to avoid becoming destitute.

  • Treasure Island: Jim Hawkins, a boy living in eighteenth century England, must survive his encounter with violent pirates.

The next step is to translate the basic premise into our story’s essence.

This post is part of a 75-day writing challenge and experiment. From September 9 through November 22, I'll be posting daily thoughts on writing, storytelling, and creativity based on recent readings or reflections. While my intention was to keep them very short—250 to 400 words—I've found that this range doesn't give me enough space to cover these topics adequately. I aim to keep them brief enough to be read quickly, but they will typically be longer than 400 words.

Day 6: Applying Writing Practice to Your Writing Process

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For the last few days, I’ve been sharing thoughts on writing practice, a timed exercise of continuous writing without stopping to edit or cross out. I’ve mentioned that we can use writing practice for any phase of any project. It helps us silence the inner critic, uncover what we really want to say, enter a flow state, and improve our ability to translate the vision we have for our story into words on a page that create an engaging experience for the reader.

Writing practice is customizable to any storytelling task by altering the setting, tools, duration, topic, or how much force we exert to stay on topic. In addition to storytelling, I use it to draft these posts and feedback for writers, to think out loud and solve problems. I even use writing practice to figure out what I want to say in an important conversation.

Think of writing practice as a unit of work. We’re applying our attention to a topic and recording what arises, which we can read, analyze, and improve. 

Well, isn’t that true of any method of writing? Yes, but the constraints of writing practice—time, topic, continuous writing, no revising—keep us focused on the task at hand and keep monkey mind from derailing us. When we set up our tools and start the timer, we begin, without stopping. 

We get words on the page instead of thinking about what to say. We can’t edit thoughts after we think them in the same way we can edit our words, and writing practice lets us see a progression of thought from the beginning to the end. We follow our mind and learn what we gravitate toward and avoid and where we get stuck. 

So how do we apply writing practice in different contexts? Here are four essential modes: exploring, planning, drafting, revising.

Exploring

This is what we do regularly to build our practice. For a musician, this is like playing scales, for a golfer, this is like the driving or putting range. Through our exploration we get to know our minds and uncover the essence of the story we want to tell. 

When we explore, we strive to uncover concrete details of whatever we write about, but we allow the mind to wander where it wants to go. For this reason, an environment away from our usual work space can be fruitful. Pen and paper tend to work better than typing. Topics similar to the ones I shared in the day 4 post are great for exploration (e.g., I remember, I’m thinking of, one afternoon in February). Time can be expansive to enable us to go deep and build stamina, or we may choose shorter, more frequent sessions to gain multiple perspectives. 

Planning

Planning is what we do when we’re developing our story idea. We know the essence of we want to say, and the planning phase helps us figure out how to say it and find the details we need in order to write a solid draft. 

Writing practice in the form of lists is helpful at this stage. We know the questions we need to answer (e.g., what is the external environment like, who is the antagonist and what do they want, how does the final battle unfold), and these are out prompts. We use the practice to collect lots and lots of possibilities. 

The list helps works great for this task because, in this context, our first thought is often the product of our short-term memory, a cliché or stereotype. While this can lead to insight, it’s akin to grabbing a random spoon that’s handy when what we really need is a whisk. It sort of works, but it’s not very effective, not the best tool for the job. The writing practice list helps us to exhaust the easy options and get down to the bottom of our mind. It’s easier to find a gem among tens of mediocre ideas than it is to land on the best choice on the first try. 

I like to use giant sheets of paper for this, like a 25-by-30-inch easel pad. This enables me to see the whole field of options and make connections between them. 

We don’t assess these options right away because we want to cast a wide net. The best practice is to let them rest for a day or so (but keep a notebook handy to record ideas that arise) and return to them with fresh eyes and mind.

Drafting

Drafting is what we do when we know what we want to say and how we’re going to say it. We have a solid plan, and we’re ready to write a draft of the story. Before we begin, we briefly refresh our memory of what we’re writing away from (earlier scenes) and toward (later scenes) and what we need to accomplish. This becomes our topic for the session. With that in mind, we dive in. These units will typically be a scene, if time is short, or a series of scenes if we have more time. 

It helps to sit in the same place every time we draft, but this might be different from where you do your day job. You may have a special hat or jacket you wear, or maybe a mug that you use only when drafting. All of these clues communicate that you are ready to begin. 

Typing in this phase is great because you’re now drafting the story you will revise later. We still observe the rules of writing practice, but we stay focused as much as possible on the scene that’s in front of us. Ideas about other parts of the story may arise. We get those down and find a place for them at the end of our session. And if we come across something we haven’t figured out yet (e.g., the correct word to describe an engine part, the city where the protagonist meet her ex, how the detective uncovers a vital clue), we type TK (a letter combination that is uncommon, and therefor easy to search for), and keep moving. Stopping would enable monkey mind a way to enter. Instead, in another session, you’ll search for your TKs and add them to your list of tasks. 

Revising 

Once we have a complete draft of the story, we let it rest for days or weeks, and then we first read then analyze the story. When we analyze, we’ll uncover problems with the draft that we’ll need to solve. These problems (e.g., plot holes, inconsistencies, characters that need development, exposition that needs to be rewritten) are the topics for our revision writing. We begin with exploratory writing and direct our attention to identifying the problem and breaking it down to find its root cause. Reaching for the solution too quickly might not help us if we haven’t zeroed in on why it’s a problem. Once we have the problem and cause nailed down, we can create a list of possible solutions as we did in the planning phase. This will give us options to choose from so we find the right choice for our story.

Conclusion

The wonderful thing about writing practice is that you can adjust the constraints to suit you as a writer, your project, and the phase you’re in. I’ve offered some suggestions here, but I invite you to experiment and make it your own. Starting with exploratory writing in regular sessions will help you apply these techniques in other situations. If you follow the constraints and adapt them to your needs, writing practice will take you where you need to go.

This post is part of a 75-day writing challenge and experiment. From September 9 through November 22, I'll be posting daily thoughts on writing, storytelling, and creativity based on recent readings or reflections. While my intention was to keep them very short—250 to 400 words—I've found that this range doesn't give me enough space to cover these topics adequately. I aim to keep them brief enough to be read quickly, but they will typically be longer than 400 words.

Day 5: Finding a Writing Practice Partner

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Writing is something we typically do on our own. We may spend months or years before we create something that resembles a “product,” something others would deem worthy of the time and effort required. It can be a lonely pursuit, and maybe we’re an introvert and we like it that way. 

Still it’s important to have someone who cares and understands what we’re doing and why. Family and friends may cheer us on and mean well, but they may not understand our obsession or why we’re willing to spend the time and effort to write the best story we can, a story readers will love. After all, there are easier ways to do the things we believe writing a story will do for us. 

A writing partner helps with accountability because when things are stacked against your writing practice, you show up anyway because you don’t want to disappoint them. No one is telling us that we must write our story. It’s something that comes from within us, a desire to express ourselves. The rest of life seems so loud and urgent, and we have legitimate commitments beyond writing. The truth is most people who set out to write a story don’t ever complete a first draft. Others fail to revise their story to realize the potential of their initial vision.

That happens because some days it’s just easier to give in. String together enough of those days, and it’s harder and harder to go back. Pretty soon, it’s hard to remember why telling a story seemed so important. Consistent practice over time is how you beat the odds and succeed. The right writing partner is a force for good that steadies you and helps you stay on the path. 

I met TC, my writing partner, at a Natalie Goldberg workshop in Taos, New Mexico. We were checking into the Fechin Inn at the same time. She heard me say the name of my hometown, and she said she loved traveling there. We hit it off immediately and ended up in the same group at the workshop. Over the five days that followed, we paired up to write and read to each other more than a dozen times. When it was time to go, we didn’t want to lose contact or momentum. We knew that many people who attend workshops intend to keep going but don’t manage it. We also knew we couldn’t let that happen. Before we left, we set a date, the following Sunday at 5:00 p.m., to write. That was over 21 years ago, and we’re still writing on Sunday evenings. We’ve done this so long that it feels wrong if we have to miss a date for travel or illness. 

So how do you find a writing partner who can be your TC? Finding a partner can be tricky. A great writing partnership is like any important relationship, it helps to cast a wide net. This is not always easy for people who enjoy spending time alone writing. 

Look for local resources in your community’s paper. Your local library might host writing groups, and nearby colleges may offer creative writing workshops. If local options are limited, don't worry—the digital world offers plenty of opportunities too. The perfect writing partner might not be in your immediate circle, so be open to virtual partnerships too. TC and I live hundreds of miles apart, but we connect by phone each week. Explore online platforms where writers connect and share their work or writing-focused groups on social media. 

Stay open and curious, ask writers about how they work, what kinds of tools and strategies they’ve tried, and what’s worked for them. People love to talk about the things they are passionate about.

Look for other writers by attending writing workshops or other gatherings of writers. Check out the local library and community papers for groups or events near you. You can look online too, but it takes longer to get to know someone online.

When you find someone and you’re ready to try,

Once you've found a potential writing partner, establish clear expectations from the start. You’ll need to discuss what your writing goals are and what you’d like to get out of the relationship. This will help you decide on the structure for your sessions. Be sure to cover your ideal meeting time and frequency. A good writing partnership is built on mutual respect and growth—be prepared to offer the same level of commitment and support you want to receive.

When you have a plan for moving forward, keep these tips in mind.

  • Regular sessions are important. This helps your mind get used to doing it and builds the neural connections that enable you to go deep and keep going. Make a commitment, even if it’s a small one to start. Plan to meet regularly for a few months, then reassess.

  • Show up every time unless there is an emergency. Monkey mind will creep in here if we let it, offering us reasons to skip. We must show monkey mind we will not be swayed. 

  • Confidentiality is a must. To read our writing, we need to trust the other person won’t share what we write about. 

  • No judgment. In some sessions, the words flow elegantly, and in others we never really land. What matters is having the courage to show up, write, and read. That is enough. So we don’t comment on or critique each other’s writing practice. If you want to critique each other’s developed work, make that a separate conversation. 

  • Be sure to check in regularly about how it’s going, and communicate about what’s not working.

It may take time to find the right person. Keep looking and do writing practice on your own in the meantime. 

In my approach to storytelling, I believe that every writer has a unique voice waiting to be uncovered and stories to tell that can shed light on the challenges we face. The journey of writing a truly impactful story is one of self-discovery and growth. It requires dedication, a willingness to delve deep into one's experiences and emotions, and the courage to push beyond our comfort zones. When we find the right person, our writing partner provides invaluable support to us on this journey. 

This post is part of a 75-day writing challenge and experiment. From September 9 through November 22, I'll post daily thoughts on writing, storytelling, and creativity based on recent readings or reflections. While my intention was to keep them very short—250 to 400 words—I've found that this range doesn't give me enough space to cover these topics adequately. I aim to keep them brief enough to be read quickly, but they will typically be longer than 400 words.

Day 4: How to Do Writing Practice

If there were a simple process to help you unlock your potential as a writer, you’d be ready to try it wouldn’t you? As I said in my Day 3 post, writing practice is a solid foundation from which you can write any story you want to tell. But it also helps you push through the places where you struggle and uncover solutions to your biggest writing problems. I know these are big claims, but in my years of editing and coaching writers like yourself, I’ve seen this process help many writers unleash hidden capacities. 

Writing practice isn't just about improving our technical skills, though it helps us to do that. Through consistent practice over time, we can develop our voice, come to understand the message we want to send to readers, and build the mental stamina needed to finish and share our most important stories. By incorporating writing practice into our lives, we're not just getting better at stringing sentences together—we're becoming insightful storytellers and better versions of ourselves. And it’s incredibly simple.

So how do we do this writing practice?

What You Need to Begin

You need a pen and paper or your computer keyboard and a word processing program. That’s it. This frees us up to focus on the mental game of outwitting monkey mind. 

If you’re writing by hand, it helps to have a fast writing pen because you want to keep up with the speed of the mind—as much as possible. Ballpoints, felt tips, and pencils are slow; I have used the Pilot Precise Rolling Ball V5 for decades. Choose a notebook that is comfortable for you, but don’t make it too fancy, which may add unhelpful expectations. If you’re typing, turn off notifications or other potential disruptions.

Start with a Topic

We choose a topic because it gives us a place to begin, something to push against. We kick things off with that topic but are free to follow where our minds go—and I’m often surprised about where I end up. During the session, if we are at a loss for what to write next, we can return to the topic.

For our Sunday evening writing sessions, we usually choose a word or phrase from a passage of a book we read together before we start. Here are a few examples: 

  • the adept grace of the red-haired waitress

  • one afternoon in February

  • a flea market

Here are some standard topics that Natalie Goldberg suggests.

  • “I remember” (but also “I don’t remember”)

  • “I’m thinking of” (and “I’m not thinking of”)

  • the first time or the last time we did something (e.g., visited a favorite place, fell in love, drove a car)

The topics are deceptively uncomplicated, but our individual response to them reveals our unique perspective. And the way we write about them, our attitude and tone, help us discover our voice.

Keep Going No Matter What Comes Up

Write continuously without editing or censoring. Let your mind go, but seek the concrete details. Remember that storytelling is the art of dramatizing events that reveal a bigger truth. The reader will discover that truth through their process of taking in the unique details. 

Ignore punctuation, grammar, and spelling—for now. Revising while doing writing practice is counterproductive because we can’t effectively generate and evaluate at the same time. Your goal here is not to write something great or even good. Of course we hope for that in the end, but writing practice is about collecting and getting down the raw materials of our mind. Only then can we truly consider them in light of what we want to accomplish. 

If something unpleasant comes up, do not stop. When we approach something rich, our inner critic often gets louder. The act of continuing when we face topics and memories that evoke pain, is grist for our growth as storytellers and people. We develop mental toughness that enables us to face our demons on and off the page. Be willing to look at what hides beyond what’s comfortable. If we hold back, we risk not reaching our potential. 

Read What You’ve Written

After the timer goes off, read aloud what you’ve written and consider the work, but don’t judge yourself. We’re looking for authentic and clear writing we can use, but we’re also studying our minds and listening to ourselves. We become aware of what we return to over and over and what we really care about. We spot the places in our writing where we go to sleep and phone it in. It’s true, there will be a lot that doesn’t work, but if you keep going, you will find gems that will take you further.

Writing practice is completely customizable. We choose the constraints: our tools, the duration, the topic. Within those constraints and from our writing desk, we can explore the entire universe, both known and what we don’t yet know.

To write a story readers love, we marry our own unique expression to universal story patterns to create something new. Through writing practice, we come to know what it is we have to say and gain the courage and confidence to say it.


Day 3: The Benefits of Writing Practice

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Many aspiring writers view writing practice as a distraction, a detour from their "real" work in progress. In my Day 2 post, I promised that it's actually an investment in your craft that will pay off in many ways. Today, let's explore these benefits and how they can transform your writing journey.

1. Silence the Inner Critic

We all have that internal voice, often called the "monkey mind," that can paralyze our writing efforts or push us towards safe, comfortable topics. Regular writing practice helps us recognize this voice and not be swayed by it.

When I first started doing writing practice, my inner critic would scream, "This is terrible! You're saying nothing. This is a waste of time!" every time I put pen to paper. But as I persisted, that voice gradually faded into the background, allowing my words to flow freely. Now, when monkey mind arises, I recognize it as a signal to keep going.

2. Achieve a Flow State Consistently

Sometimes writing feels like an uphill battle, with every word a struggle. Other times, the words seem to flow effortlessly. Writing practice helps us enter this "flow state" more consistently, building neural connections that make the journey smoother and less taxing.

*Example:* It used to take me a long time to start a project. I wouldn't know how or where to begin. Now, I start with a topic and enter a productive writing state quickly, regardless of my initial mood or circumstances. While writing challenges still arise, I see them as opportunities because I have a clear process to solve them.

3. Improve Our Ability to Translate Imagined Stories

As storytellers, our job is to convert the vision in our minds into a meaningful narrative for the reader. We do this by weaving in concrete details that collectively communicate our intended message. Writing practice hones this skill, helping us capture the nuances that bring our visions to life.

In my first draft of a scene, I'm often just getting a basic impression that doesn't accurately reflect the version of the event in my mind. By returning to the scene from different perspectives using writing practice, I add layers that create a complex narrative, not just a series of happenings. I uncover things I didn't realize about the characters and what makes them tick.

4. Uncover What We Really Want to Say

At its core, every story offers an idea about how to approach life's problems. To craft a coherent narrative, we need to understand our underlying message. Writing practice helps us uncover this essence by allowing us to write freely, without self-censorship or concern for others' opinions.

When I started developing my Narrative Cartography process to help writers plan and write better stories, I thought it was just about helping writers achieve commercial success. Through writing practice, I realized I'm more concerned with helping writers make sense of what they want to say, enabling them to write the best story they can and share their unique perspective in a way that benefits us all.

Writing practice isn't just about improving our technical skills; it's about developing our voice, understanding our message, and building the mental stamina needed for long-term projects. By incorporating regular writing practice into our routines, we're not just becoming better writers—we're becoming more insightful storytellers and more authentic versions of ourselves.

So, the next time you're tempted to skip your writing practice to work on your "real" project, remember: this is the work that makes all your other writing possible. Embrace it, and watch your craft flourish.



Day 2: The Power of Writing Practice

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In my Day 1 post, I emphasized how knowing your story's essence helps craft an engaging narrative. It's what you want to express, combined with universal story patterns, to create a unique tale your readers will love. But how do you nail down your story's essence if you're not quite sure what it is yet?

One powerful way to uncover this essence—and accomplish much more—is through writing practice. Over the next few posts, I'll explore this fundamental tool that anyone can use to improve their writing and storytelling.

So, what is writing practice? It's a timed exercise where you write continuously without stopping to edit or cross out. You start with a specific topic but allow your mind to wander. The key? Ignore punctuation, grammar, and spelling—for now. Revision comes later.

I learned this technique from Natalie Goldberg's book Writing Down the Bones and her workshops in New Mexico. It was at one of these workshops that I met my writing partner, TC. Twenty-one years later, we're still writing together every Sunday evening. (More on that in a future post!)

Writing practice serves multiple purposes for me:

  • A brain dump to clear my mind before work

  • A playground for exploration and free association

  • A problem-solving and drafting tool

  • A method for revision

The beauty of writing practice is its simplicity. All you need is a pen, paper, and 10 minutes to get started.

Now, you might be wondering: Isn't this just a distraction from my work in progress? Isn't it resistance? Not at all—and in the next post, I'll show you why writing practice is a valuable investment in your craft, not a detour.

Stay tuned to discover the surprising benefits of this powerful technique!


Day 1: Beginnings and the Essence of Your Story

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Welcome to day one of my 75-day writing challenge! For the next 75 days, I'll be posting daily thoughts on writing, storytelling, and creativity. These posts will be brief explorations—250 to 400 words—based on recent readings or reflections.

As we embark on this journey, let's talk about beginnings. In storytelling, beginnings are crucial. They upset the status quo of the protagonist, forcing them to confront something new and unknown. This inciting incident catalyzes the entire narrative, establishing the initial perspective that must evolve throughout the story.

But before we even put pen to paper, there's a deeper beginning we must consider: the essence of our story. This is the core reason we commit months or years to tell this particular tale. It's what we truly want to say, the experience we want to create for the reader.

Understanding your story's essence is vital because

  1. It becomes your definition of success

  2. It acts as your True North, guiding countless story decisions

  3. It helps you make your story meaningful to readers

Even if you're writing primarily to entertain, knowing the essence of your story will help you craft a more engaging narrative. It allows you to weave universal story patterns into your unique story in a way that resonates with readers.

So, as you begin your writing journey, take time to uncover the essence of your story. What do you really want to say about life, beyond the setting, characters, and events? This clarity will be your first step towards writing a story you can be proud of—one that truly expresses what you want to share with the world.