Let’s Talk MORE About Writing

Let’s talk MORE about writing, friends.

I recently read a chapter entitled “Faith and Fiction” from Frederick Buechner’s Secrets in the Dark. His thoughts on “the Muse” fascinated me:

The word fiction comes from a Latin verb meaning “to shape, fashion, feign.” That is what fiction does, and in many ways it is what faith does too. You fashion your story, like you fashion your faith, out of the great hodgepodge of your life . . . Then, if you’re a writer like me, you try less to impose a shape on the hodgepodge than to see what shape emerges from it, is hidden in it . . . You avoid forcing your characters to march too steadily to the drumbeat of your artistic purpose, but leave them some measure of real freedom to be themselves. . . .

In fiction as in faith something from outside ourselves is “breathed into” us if we’re lucky, if we’re open enough to inhale it. I think writers . . . shouldn’t try to keep too tight a rein on what they’re doing. 

My spirit cried, “Yes!”—and I immediately began to ponder every book I’ve written, wondering if/how I had harmed the stories by trying to control them too tightly.

Then, in my querying journey (50 queries and counting!), I found myself on the website of fantasy author Patrick Rothfuss. In an interview about writing, he delivered this gem of a thought:

There are certain things our culture believes about authors that just simply aren’t true, to the detriment of both authors and the readership. People will say, “Oh, I was writing this scene, and the characters just ran away with the story.” When somebody says that, I think of parents who bring their kids to a restaurant, and they’re little demons running around, they’re knocking over the fern, they’re screaming. And the parents just sit there: “Oh, I just, I can’t do a thing with them. They’re so out of control.” Before I was a parent, I would look at them and be like, “No, you can fucking control your children. You nail that down. You do your job as a parent.” And now that I am a parent, I think the exact same thing.

Buechner and Rothfuss seemed to be voicing opposing thoughts—but I realized I agree with both of them. 

I took the two quotes to my writing group, and after lengthy discussion, we concluded that inspiration and control are both necessary, in varying ratios, throughout the book-writing process. 

For example, I treasure the moments when I discover something about a character that makes me nervous. I have actually written in my outline notes: “No. I don’t want this to be true. Fie. I don’t want to write this. I don’t know if I can write this.” My reluctance confirms the authenticity of the moment: this is not something I chose, and therefore, it must be coming from the truth of the Story—the truth that lies beyond me, but which I am always trying to catch in a net of words.

On the other hand, I also delight in the experience of “shaping” and “fashioning”, as Buechner put it. I love the feeling of piecing the bones together, trying different arrangements until I find the shape that feels right—and I know it’s right.

So, as I work on the second book of this new fantasy series, I shall endeavor to keep both Buechner and Rothfuss present, reminding me alternately to ease my grip on the reins or just control my fjording* children already.

*My protagonist uses geographical terms as swear words. I love him.

As my faithful readers know, music is instrumental (Ha! Punny . . .) to my writing process. Sometimes, it confirms what I already knew about a character, authorizing me to explore and emphasize the soul-feeling from that song in every encounter with that character.

To wit: these back-to-back tracks on Switchfoot’s Nothing Is Sound album could come from straight from the minds of my villain and my hero, respectively, and listening to them always helps me tap into these two dudes’ voices.

My poor tortured villain: