Storytelling for Pantsers

by Annalisa Parent

  It’s ok to spend a long time writing a first draft and less time revising.

  When it comes to the “right” way to write, we’ve got a true case of separate but equal, and the only determining factor is what works best for you.

  While we’re talking about flipping things around, let’s consider flipping our point of view. No, not the point of view of our novel (though we’ll get to that in the clarity section), our own point of view, how we see ourselves and our writing.

  One is the loneliest number

  What happens to us writers? We writers spend a lot of time in solitude; we’re alone working away on our novels, and during that solitary time our worries magnify. There’s something about that solitude that just makes worry churn, and because we’re the only ones talking to ourselves, giving ourselves feedback, that small problem becomes bigger and bigger and bigger.

  It’s important to notice and recognize that this process is happening to us: that we spend so much time alone with our craft, and that maybe our vision is a little bit skewed. Things are a little bit out of proportion, and we might be seeing things through a lens that isn’t necessarily accurate because we’re too close to it, for example.

  Keep this idea in mind, be gentle with yourself, and take a deep breath. Really. Take a deep breath.

  Remember your brain?

  Deep breathing increases oxygen and blood flow to the brain, which in turn creates fertile ground for quality thinking and creativity. As I mentioned, in my work with writers we spend a lot of time working through exercises specifically targeted to enhance brain functioning and to create fertile ground for creativity.

  This kind of supportive community is another asset that helps writers to break free from the trap of self doubt. Breaking free from the solitary act of writing, and becoming a part of the right community, can do wonders for your self image as a writer.

  There’s a U in the middle of Truth

  Did you ever notice there’s a “u” standing in the middle of “truth”?

  Now, not to go all Nietzsche or Kant on you, but here’s my philosophy: I believe in facing your truth; facing the truth, and really embracing it, for better or for worse.

  I love to be silly. (Have you caught on to that one yet?) You’ll hear me tell knock-knock jokes and ridiculous things like that, but I’m also really serious about facing my own truths.

  That means being honest with myself about my shortcomings and my strengths.

  Why?

  I feel that there’s power in looking at things from a standpoint of self-honesty. Once we’ve admitted our truth, we can deal with it. If, for example, we’re ignoring the fact that our solitude is impacting us, then we’re never going to get to the root of that problem.

  What does this mean for writers?

  The truth here is to accept the writer that you are here, now, today. As a writer, this process might mean thinking about things like: Maybe you’re not the best writer you could be today—and that’s ok. That might just be the truth.

  Maybe solitude or the writing group you’re in now aren’t serving you and you need a quality experience. Maybe your writing isn’t where you want it to be. Maybe you compare yourself to someone else and think, “I wish I could be that person.” But you are the writer that you are, and that’s exactly the person that you are supposed to be right now.

  Like your manuscript, you are a work in progress. You bought this book to move your writing forward. You will continue to grow, change, and advance as you put energy into the effort to do so. So, accept the writer that you are, and congratulate yourself for taking the small step of buying this book to improve yourself as of today. Then move forward to find the kind of long term solutions that will help you to become the writer you want to be, and to flourish.

  There’s a monster under the bed

  In the comic strip, five-year-old Calvin and his stuffed tiger, Hobbes, spend a lot of time obsessing about the monster under the bed. It’s humorous, it’s charming, and it’s reminiscent.

  It connects us, the readers, to the innocence of our childhood fears…

  And yet—

  We writers lie awake staring at the ceiling, wrestling with our demons. We might as well call that the monster under the bed.

  There’s nothing quaint about fear, no matter one’s age. The monsters we writers face are just as imaginary and just as real, as the ones of our childhood.

  One of the biggest monsters? The monster of comparison.

  Here’s another shift in point of view that you can make as you think about your writing: When we compare ourselves to others, we often talk about changing, being something else. As a writer, what would happen if you looked for ways to improve versus change?

  When we compare ourselves to others, we’re missing the unique gifts that we bring to the table. Hemingway is Hemingway. Had he compared himself to Tolstoy, we might have lost something, right?

  We’re all unique, and I don’t mean that in some sort of woo-woo, fuzzy, washed out way. I’m serious. You have something that you can share in the world that is yours, and that is a wonderful, wonderful gift, and I hope you can come to a point where you can really accept that.

  Writing is growth. There’s never a moment where you arrive and you say, “That’s it! I am an amazing writer!” We’re always moving forward and questioning; it’s part of the process. Keep in mind that there’s always going to be this ebb and flow, and that’s just part of the process—it might make our stomachs upset sometimes—but we can look at the truth, accept that the situation just is.

  This vulnerability is the nature of being a writer. It’s the nature of exposing your inner thoughts. It’s the nature of not only exposing those inner thoughts, but putting them out into the world for other people to look at, judge, and potentially reject.

  The bravery to put one’s work out into the world is certainly something to be celebrated, and in my work with writers, we do just that every day: Celebrate the wins, big and small.

  Secret disclosure: I’ve always been a bit of a ham. There have been many times where people didn’t “get it,” rolled their eyes at me, or told me I was simply not funny. (They were totally wrong, am I right? Ok, moving on.)

  Yet here I am writing this silly, goofy, fun, serious book on writing.

  Some people will pick it up and roll their eyes. Some will buy it. Some will read it and love it.

  Why did I do it this way? I could have written a very academic piece, slapped a Latin title on it, and called it done. So, why this book in this way?

  Because this book is about my view on writing, about the approach I take in my work with writers; it’s about my passion for craft and helping writers to become authors. It is, in essence, me.

  Let’s face it: There are a million books out there on writing. But there’s only one me.

  And, at the end of the day, there’s only one you, and you’ve got an important story to tell too.

  Getting that story out, helping you to see wonderful you, that’s my passion.

  Let’s make that happen.

  To err is human

  Here’s another truth: Failure is part of the writing process.

  We sometimes have interesting philosophies around failure; we don’t often look at it as the opportunity it can be.

  Look, I know it doesn’t feel great to fail.

  The issue, as I see it, is that once we get to a certain age, we’re no longer used to failure. When we were very young, failure was part of the daily routine and we used it to help us learn.

  Think about you the baby. There was a moment of time—and I’m sure Mom or Dad told some great stories about this— where you were learning to walk and you fell many times. It was cute and your parents took videos or pictures; they called their parents to tell them about it.

  Falling was a natural part of the process. Nobody said, “Oh my goodness, he’s never going to learn to walk. What a failure this baby is.”

  Instead, they held your hand, guide
d you through what didn’t work, and moved you toward what did work until you were able to do it on your own.

  (Sounds a lot like what a good coach does to me!)

  Still don’t believe me?

  Think about when you learned to form letters. It was so cute and your parents put your little notes on their refrigerator, backwards and upside letters, made-up spellings and all. They didn’t tell you you were a failure and would never learn to spell or write. (They were wise, your parents.) They recognized the journey.

  That same forgiveness that our parents had as we went through the various phases of early childhood we also had for ourselves because we didn’t know better.

  We hadn’t learned to equate falling with failure, and failure as bad. That’s a construct that came much, much later, one that now darkens our writing doors.

  What would happen if we changed our point of view? What if we said, “Yeah, I’m going to fail, and I’m going to learn something.”?

  The more that we can approach failure in that way, the less anxiety and the fewer stomachaches we will have, and the more progress we’ll make. This change in perspective is about being gentle with yourself and attempting, to the extent possible, not to take those setbacks personally.

  Look, we all hate failure. We’re all afraid of failing. It never goes away. However, we can learn to walk with that fear, dance with it even. I believe this wholeheartedly, as it forms the foundation of what I do every day in the Writing Gym.

  Oh, Doubting Thomas

  Maybe you still don’t believe me. It’s ok. You’re not the first writer I’ve met who wants to cling to that fear. It’s got a powerful hold.

  The thing is, my dear fellow writer, we all fail. Even when we’ve been at this for a lifetime, after we’ve had monumental success, we still fail. Because there are still lessons to learn.

  Still don’t believe me? Fine. Fine. Fine.

  (You’re awfully stubborn, you know.)

  Let us sit at the feet of those who wrote before us.

  Many of you know about the Writing Gym podcast where we interview best-selling authors, agents, publishers, and editors about their writing tips and tricks.

  When we were talking with New York Times best-seller Bob Burg, he told us a story about what had happened with the title of his and John David Mann’s book. What I want to point out is that this is a multiple best-selling author, an exceedingly successful businessman—this guy knows what he’s talking about—yet he still made a mistake, had a failure with choosing a book title and I want you to see how he and John turned that failure into a lesson.

  After The Go-Giver we wrote a follow-up that was more application-based called Go-Givers Sell More. That one sold very well, so not an issue there. But then the publisher asked us to do another parable: a follow-up to The Go-Giver.

  So, we did one called It’s Not About You, which, to us or anyone who had read The Go-Giver...should know that it came from Law Number Three, the Law of Influence (your influence is determined by how abundantly you place other people’s interests…so on and so forth).

  We thought that would be a natural follow-up, and it would even be an appealing title for those who hadn’t read the first book.

  We were wrong.

  People didn’t buy the book, and they didn’t buy it in droves, which was amazing to us.

  We couldn’t understand why, because the people who bought it said, “This is as good as The Go-Giver,” and so forth and so on.

  But I was speaking to one person and we’re just talking about how some books sell, some don’t...and he said, “you know, Bob, it’s interesting: a book called It’s Not About You.” He said, “You know, if I was looking at it and I didn’t know you, I’d look at the title and I’d say, ‘Well if it’s not about me, why would I want it?’”

  And that made pretty good sense.

  But there was also something else: One reason for the sales of The Go-Giver is that it’s a gift book. People feel very comfortable giving a book to someone with the title The Go-Giver because what are you saying? It’s like you’re saying, “Hey this is you, you’re a go-giver.”

  Think about it. You’re going to give this book as a gift called “It’s not about you.” Hmm, what’s this person trying to tell me? It’s like giving someone a bottle of Scope mouthwash.

  I love what Bob says here. I mean, this is a man who has the foreword to his book written by Arianna Huffington, which is no small feat. This book is recommended by Spencer Johnson, who wrote the book Who Moved My Cheese? among others, and yet: He made a mistake; he had a moment of failure in choosing a title.

  If you still think that you’re alone on the failure train, let’s have a chat with my author pal John David Mann.

  If you head over to Mr. Mann’s website, you’ll see two full pages of published books, including New York Times best-sellers. This is a man who has written not one New York Times best-seller, but several, and won multiple literary awards. This is a writer we would all aspire to be, right? Someone we would think would have it rock solid, tied up, could publish anything, anywhere, any time?

  Let’s hear what he has to say about writing failures and flops.

  I just finished a book: a parable about a young boy who’s in trouble, a fourteen-year-old kid who, once his father leaves, his life is going downhill, he’s getting in trouble, getting in fights, major suffering, angry at the world, and he crosses paths with a crusty old diner chef that turns out to be a retired award-winning chef, and he goes to work for this guy in the kitchen.

  Life learning ensues, and it’s a parable.

  My agent has taken it now to over forty publishers, all of whom said no. And this is the first time this has happened for me. I’ve got a book—I think it’s a good book—and nobody’s publishing it.

  So I say that just because rejection and barriers and brick walls are a fact of life that don’t go away, even once you’re successful and have what I’ve got—I’ve published about two dozen books, two million copies, two dozen foreign languages copies. I can’t get anybody to publish this book.

  You heard it from the horse’s mouth. Sorry, John, you’re not a horse…uh, what I mean is: I can’t say it any better than he did.

  If you’re going to write anything on a sticky note and place it on your writing desk, quote John David Mann.

  “Rejection and barriers and brick walls are a fact of life.” – John David Mann

  So, what is the truth here?

  You are going to fail.

  And it’s ok.

  You’re going to fail.

  And it’s ok.

  It’s part of the process. Beyond that, you don’t know what’s going on behind the scenes. So many, many times, we submit something for publication, get a rejection back, and we think that it’s all about us.

  We think, “Oh, I must not be a very good writer,” or, “I must have the characters all wrong,” or, “I did something wrong with my query letter.” Whatever it is, we take it upon ourselves.

  And it may very well be about us, the quality of the story...OR

  It might be about something else entirely.

  Just like a job interview, or any other time that we put ourselves out there in the world, we don’t know what’s going on behind the scenes. It might not be the right time for the piece that you submitted. It might not be the right market. Agents and publishers have a lot of inside information on what’s hot right now, and the winds change in each genre from moment to moment.

  Really, let’s be fair with the agents and publishers; they’re all trying to make guesses too about what the next big thing is.

  Harry Potter is a great example of that. How many times did Harry Potter get rejected? And then it ended up as a multi-billion dollar industry.

  They guessed wrong; they guessed the market wouldn’t support that story, and in fact, it did—in spades. Agents are just scrambling to look for the next thing, and we don’t know what their projections and guesses are.

  So, wh
y should we take rejection personally? It’s not personal and, at the end of the day, if it is personal, if someone doesn’t accept your story, they think you’re a jerk, or not cool, or too cool— you don’t want to work with them anyway. That would just be a nightmare.

  If you’ve ever been in a work relationship with someone who it is not easy to get along with, then you know that that’s just not your thing. You don’t want to be there. Just say, “Thank you for the rejection,” and move on to the next thing.

  When to invite the inner critic in for dinner

  All right, here comes a big one. We’re going to talk about that inner critic.

  From an early age, we’re trained to look for what’s wrong, to focus on what needs to be fixed. Our teachers and parents were well-intentioned (one hopes), but during the training process called growing up, it’s pointed out to us often what it is that we need to fix, what we need to do better, how to hold the fork... you get the idea.

  Our parents are training us to survive in the world, but the process also trains our brain to start looking for what’s wrong.

  Let’s take a moment to give the inner critic her due.

  We writers frequently speak of the inner critic as the enemy. She certainly can be an enemy, especially at times when we’re trying to be hyper-creative and nothing’s flowing the way we want it to.

  But let’s keep this in mind: The inner critic is there for a reason. She actually serves a purpose for us: She protects us from that which might otherwise harm us. This is important: That’s why she’s there; that’s why we have her.

  So, let’s turn that beat around and take a moment to be grateful for the inner critic. Knowing when to say “Thank you” and “No thanks, not now” to the inner critic are two really important steps on the journey to being a writer who finishes books.

  (You do know you can’t publish a book if you don’t finish writing it, right?)