some observations on my writing

I finished and submitted Thinking:  A Student's Introduction to Philosophy this morning.  A full month ahead of schedule!  Hopefully that means we'll see press a full month ahead of schedule.  But given editors, I won't hold my breath.

So I was wondering what to write this morning.  And it occurred to me:  Perhaps a little reflection on the writing process itself.  Because, there are still three more book projects on the horizon.

I've noticed that my ability to write is in direct correlation to turning off my phone alerts and staying away from the internet.  There's this mysterious correlation between my happiness as a writer and my access to technology.  The more you have of one, the less you have of the other.  The less you have of one, the more you have of the other.

So this has become my writing process:

1. Get up early.  Preferably about 3 a.m.  That's because it's quiet, and I have a chance to write without distraction from the telly.  There's never anything on that I want to watch at 3 a.m.  
2. Switch off the wireless on the computer.
3. Switch off the alerts on my phone.
4. Write 770 words.  770 words is manageable.  800 is impossible.
5. Once I've reached my word length, make a note in the manuscript.  Seeing how often I reach that goal becomes motivation to reach that goal again.
6. When I finish, reverse steps 1-3.  Switch on the alerts for my phone.  Switch on the wireless on the laptop.  Go back to bed for a nap.
7. Whisper a little prayer to remind yourself -- this is all for the glory of God.

 But there's a really odd thing I noticed about my writing yesterday.  Normally I begin to write after some particular idea has occurred to me in a moment of inspiration  let us call this idea x.  That's because normally I'm writing for this blog.  So I sit down to write.  I start building up a picture as a backdrop to x.  Sometimes I begin with x and sometimes I end with it.  It's either the theme which I am developing or the goal towards which I want to lead the reader.  Ideally, readers will feel they are discovering x all by themselves.  As I'm writing, things start to develop in unexpected ways.  A certain emphasis emerges which I hadn't anticipated.  Certain things turn out to be dull when put to paper, so I find myself gravitating away from those things and towards other things, more solid and interesting.

Then when I've finished a draft I go back and edit it.  I find the weak generic verbs and replace them with stronger ones.  I delete most of the adjectives (adjectives being a particular weakness of mine).  I look for places where I have used two nouns or two verbs instead of one (since nothing enfeebles a sentence more than indecision over nouns and verbs).   I delete digressions, anything that might distract from the effect that I'm trying to achieve.

But here's the odd thing:  Just when I think I'm done, I discover a glaring weakness that I had not noticed before.  It is x.  There it is, standing there like a bit of old scaffolding, once necessary but now quite useless.  It draws attention to itself.  It obscures the view.  It doesn't belong here anymore.  Here comes the hardest part.  Here comes the decision that will determine whether the writing is any good or whether it's another mediocrity.  Often for sentimental reasons I can't bear to get rid of x.  This is a spiritual failing and it produces failed writing.  Sentimentalism can be useful at the start of the writing process, but ruthlessness is necessary at the end.  It takes courage to delete poor x, beloved x.  But I have to do it.  I have to expunge it, every last trace of it, not only killing it but burying it too.  Nobody but me should know that x ever existed.  Only then is my job done.

That, I'm pretty sure, is what my writing teacher at school -- the sainted Dale Gilmore -- meant when he taught me the writing process.  Writing is inspiration.  But writing is also asceticism.

An inspired idea isn't worth the paper it's written on if it's not subjected to a merciless asceticism.