The planned chaos of a first draft
/There’s something exhilarating about writing a novel and having absolutely no idea where the story is going. Anything is possible and unexpected twists pop up, seemingly out of nowhere. I once read someone describe writing a first draft as groping your way blindfolded through a strange room.
I’ve heard many writers talk about this approach to a first draft, including Jeanettte Winterson, who was at guest at Byron Bay Writers Festival a few years ago. She encouraged writers to let their work be wayward and uncontrollable and spoke of the ‘necessary chaos.’
I’ve always urged my writing students to use freewriting in their first drafts, worried that too much planning or thinking might constrain their writing, worried that they might miss one of those wonderful unexpected passages of writing that can emerge when you are not worrying about what’s coming next.
When I wrote my first novel, Salt Rain, I had no idea where the story was heading. The spark for that story came up in a freewrite: an image of a girl sitting on a hill in the rainy dark, looking down at houses in the valley below. That was all I knew about the story and it wasn’t until about the fourth draft that the plot became clear to me.
Then my approach changed. My next two novels (His Other House and Promise) each started with a situation and a rough idea of the shape of the novel. I knew where the stories started and where they ended. I knew how the protagonists would change throughout the story. There was still a lot of work to be done (you know, small stuff like develop fully dimensional characters, figure out all the character arcs, decide on a structure and setting, get clear on voice etc) and there were still moments of surprise (eg. Oh! This character is a nudist!? Really? Okay) but I wasn’t groping my way through a first draft. I was wandering forwards with a map in my hand.
When I started writing Big Magic, my first kids’ book, I knew what I wanted to write about: magic, circus, a courageous girl protagonist and parallel universes, but I didn’t have a plot or situation in mind. In many ways I went back to the discover-it-as-you-go approach I took with Salt Rain. This approach definitely takes more time, but I do love the sense of being open to the unexpected, and the surprising things that appear on my screen.
One thing that hasn’t changed is the rewriting required. And it’s always more than I imagine. Even now as I work away on the sequel to Big Magic, I notice myself thinking that maybe this one won’t require as much rewriting as the others. Which is total delusion of course and just something I tell myself so I am not overwhelmed by the task at hand.
When I sent Big Magic to my agent about a year and a half ago, I truly felt there was nothing more I could do to it. I was done. But, of course, once the good folk at Hardie Grant Children’s Publishing offered editorial feedback, I saw how much more there was to do. I couldn't believe I hadn’t seen these blindingly obvious things before, including a fairly significant rewrite of the second half. Then I was done with it. It was definitely as good as I could make it.
A month or so later, I got the next round of suggestions. Yep. Suddenly I saw all the ways I could make it even better and worked away intensively for a few weeks. Then I was done with it etc etc. until I got one more (tiny) bite at the cherry when the proofs came through. Then it went to print.
Which brings its own particular disquiet. Because it’s set in stone now. This stage of the process – as a book goes out into the world - involves a letting go. People will like it or not and there’s nothing I can do about that. When the book is in a reader’s hands, they have their own individual relationship with the story. Each reader brings their his or her own life and inner world to the book (and adults bring their own memories of being a kid) and a unique reader-book relationship is formed. It’s almost – strangely – nothing to do with me now. So I turn to the sequel, Magic Awry, a roughly drawn map in hand.