Revision of Re-Vision

Why, Maybe, There is No "Right Way"

Dare I employ that juvenile platitude of internet lingo? *sigh* Oh well: #TBT

Reader, you may recall a post from a few months back detailing my painful relationship with the revision process. In said post, I described the challenges of being a writer who shuns the "rough draft" and prefers polished work from the start, when the writing flows more naturally. In spite of making revision analogous to disfiguring babies, however, my desire to be optimistic compelled me to conclude that post by gently chiding myself for being such a narrow-minded perfectionist. A sort of "Silly writer, one-and-done manuscripts are for egoists."

I thought that was the appropriate response then, but I was surprised to find that several of my readers were confused by my ending. In addition to the sheer incoherence of praising revision after denouncing it, my turnaround didn't seem honest. And after giving it some thought, I've decided that the discussion is worth revisiting. Yes, I am completely aware of the irony of this post. I wrote a post about revision, where 90% of it lamented that the revision process doesn't work for me then suddenly shifted to a rallying cry of "Yay revision!", and am now solving the inconsistency of that post by revising its conclusion.

Yes, I am positively drowning in the rolling, crashing waves of multilevel irony here.

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But it also proves my point exactly. I couldn't revise that post the traditional way. I had to write it, put my heart and soul in it, then let it be dead for a few months before even touching it again. By then, with relatively little technical input from others, I could deduce on my own what I needed to make it better. That's what worked for me, but I realize that that's not what I was taught by other writers (whoa, am I being defiant?). Typical revisionary strategies, at least as I understand them, would have me producing multiple drafts of varying polish. The process would look something like this, I imagine:

1. Brain-dump: just write what comes to mind, in whatever order it comes to mind, without stopping to consider coherency or grammar.
2. Rough draft: go back and spell-check, grammar-check, and broadly rearrange as necessary to make it readable.
3. Passable draft: refine for more artistic and detailed elements, like distinction of voices and lyrical prose, so that it looks more like an adult's writing and less like an adolescent's (*cough* E. L. James *cough*)
4. Polished draft: after receiving feedback from others, cut, add, rearrange, or rewrite to fill any holes, solve any efficiency issues, or create more symbolism, using steps 1-3 again as necessary.
5. Final draft: tie any loose ends and clean-up transitions, then proofread and refine details until it is in publishable form.

. . . And that's an extremely simplified model, not taking into account the indefinite amount of times someone could redo, reorder, or overlap these drafts. Essentially, the goal is to be writing constantly in short, relatively close spurts, valuing the frequency and quantity of writing over quality, at least until the final revisions. A worthy goal -- but, for me, it hasn't worked too well. My brain is so wired for detail and conscientiousness that producing "rough" material doesn't come naturally; in some ways, it's more difficult. It's not that I'm not revising -- it's that I'm revising as I write. By the time a sentence makes it onto a page, I've already mentally written and crossed-out rough versions of it a thousand times. Yet I'm also always thinking ahead to consider how one moment of wording will impact the rest of the story (e.g., repetition for symbolism). Essentially, the steps of typical revision are not so much eliminated as they are condensed. Where there are less physical drafts, there are more mental reworkings and planning to produce a final draft in fewer -- albeit, longer and more infrequent -- tries. I'm more content to spend 20 hours straight producing a polished draft in one take than to write a few hours each day revising a brain-dump.

Perhaps it is my conscientiousness for polished writing that makes any kind of change difficult. Whereas other writers might move relatively quickly from one draft to another, I find it excruciating to try to alter something I've already refined so meticulously, even when I know there are holes. I've found that it's easier to put my work aside for a considerable amount of time before going back to it, when I am not so stuck in the rhythm I had when drafting it.

I don't claim that my way of revising is in any way more efficient than traditional models. Granted, I've only worked with relatively shorter works, so spacing out revisions to every six months is probably not conducive to finishing a book within a decade. My habits will probably change in the future as I risk experimenting with other strategies. Yet, I cannot help but wonder if traditional revision models fail to take into account differing minds.

Am I suggesting that some writers need never revise? No. What I'm saying is that, if traditional revision methods don't work for you, it's okay. If taking more time or skipping a few steps is what makes you write at your best, then by golly go for it. I'm aware that my own process is a rather slow one, in terms of individual writing sessions, but I use it because I've found that I'm more likely to make mistakes when I write quickly -- even with proofreading (I guess because I'm not in the flow?). You may need to experiment a bit (in a low-consequences setting) to figure out what rhythm of writing works most efficiently for you. Once you've found it, embrace it. Don't fret if you have to cram your work in one weekend while everyone else writes snippets throughout the week (or vice-versa), or if you have to move on to start new projects before refining a previous one. What's important is that you remain consistent in your (efficient) habits. At the end of the day, while we can certainly learn from other writer's strategies, our process should be our own.

New conclusion: revise as you wish, there's no right way to do it.

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Grace and peace to you.

The Perks of Being an Introvert (Part 2)

6 Reasons Why Awkward Makes for Awesome Writing

Silly me -- I thought I could fit a topic I'm wildly passionate about in one post. At any rate, reader, I wish to continue last week's discussion on introversion and writing, and include here reasons 4-6 why being an introvert benefits the writer's lifestyle:

4. Love of Solitude

Current research now shows that there's a scientific reason why introverts prefer quiet time alone -- and guess what, it's not shyness. Similar to our vulnerability to overstimulation, introvert's energy levels are easily drained by social interaction -- even if they're enjoying themselves. Plenty of introverts are friendly and sociable at parties, but all require some hardcore downtime afterwards to "recharge." Introverts' inclination toward contemplative activities and their ability to work better independently than in groups also result in a lot of "alone hours." The idea of spending a significant amount of time by oneself may sound lonely or miserable, but most introverts are very comfortable with solitude. Even if we love being with people, we thrive on those moments of solitude that allow us to explore our inner worlds in ways that a socially active environment cannot afford. It allows us to time to process and reflect on our day-to-day lives, and we gain pleasure by knowing we haven't let it pass by us in a blur.

As a writer, contentment in solitude is a quality I can never take for granted. Writing -- the truly exceptional, dedicated kind -- calls for many solitary hours spent at the writing desk, away from human contact and distraction. For someone like me, that is perfectly okay. My creative and intellectual properties function much better when I'm alone and don't feel pressured by anyone. This preference, combined with my ADD-esque symptoms, means that I often spend as many as 15 hours a day in a room by myself to write. That may sound insane (and maybe it is, a little), but to me it's not daunting at all, if it gets the job done. Most days, that time alone actually makes me feel more energized, more alive, than I could ever feel around other people.

5. Highly Sensitive

The easiest way to put this is: things affect me more. Dr. Elaine Aron, PhD, has done some amazing research on the trait of high sensitivity, which she found is common among introverts (and many extroverts). Essentially, a highly sensitive person (HSP) is someone who literally feels and thinks deeper than her peers; she is extraordinarily susceptible to her environment, making her more likely to be impacted by an event than a less-sensitive person. (That loud noise, for example? Way more annoying to HSPs.) HSPs are also known for their strong empathy -- probably because they can actually feel what another person is feeling due to their excellent intuitive skills.

As a writer, being an HSP makes it easy for me to find inspiration. Even a small occurrence impacts me on a deep emotional level. I'm prone to find profound meaning in everyday struggles, especially as I tap into others' feelings. I'm more likely to notice someone frowning and wonder what's wrong, or to be moved (sometimes to tears) by sad news and when witnessing an act of cruelty (even if it's a fictional one on TV). Furthermore, my writing has the potential to evoke a stronger emotional response simply because it's more authentically emotional (chances are, I feel what my characters are feeling).

6. Introspective

Want to hear something incredible? I am never bored. Literally, never. That's because, as psychologist Jerry Miller at the University of Michigan says, "There is nothing more exciting [to introverts] than ideas." As an introvert, I am comfortable in my own mind. My thoughts and imagination are my greatest source of entertainment, because I take enormous pleasure in quietly taking in the world and analyzing it to death. Simply thinking, for me, is one of the highest forms of bliss that life can offer. Though I used to hate myself for being so "stuck in my own head" all the time, I now treasure my introspection as a gift. Writing, after all, is an endless search for the significance of things -- finding metaphors in daily events, exploring the reasons for pain, desperately seeking the meaning of human life. My introspection means that such quiet searching is innate; I am constantly imagining, reflecting, and coming up with meanings. I am content to meditate on the strange mystery of existence until the end of my days.

Accepting myself as an introvert is by far one of the best decisions I ever made. We are each born with unique qualities, gifts, and quirks that make us who we are, and that make us suited for tasks that only we can fulfill in ways only we can offer. Becoming the best version of oneself is not about forcing upon yourself extrinsic characteristics in order to fit in. It's about realizing that there is a small corner in the world with a void in it, and that it's oddly the perfect size and shape for you.

* * *

I hope you enjoyed this series. I would love to hear your thoughts, particularly from fellow writers. Introverts, do any of the above qualities play a role in your writing career? Are there others that I failed to mention? Extroverts, what qualities of your nature do you find yourself employing in your writing? Do you feel challenged by some of the more introverted aspects of writing (e.g., solitude), or are these habits easy to adopt for a pursuit you love? Please let me know in the comments below! Also, I encourage everyone to check out Susan Cain's book Quiet, which explains how introversion "works" in the most beautiful, spot-on way I've ever seen.

Grace and peace to you.

The Perks of Being an Introvert (Part 1)

6 Reasons Why Awkward Makes for Awesome Writing

It's always been hard for me to explain how my brain works.

As an introvert with ADD-esque symptoms, that's not unusual. By OED's definition, introverts are reticent and inwardly-drawn types, so expressing ourselves comes as a challenge. One wouldn't know it from my silence, but my thoughts can be ridiculously rich and complex. I am remarkably good at observing and at reading people's emotions. And though I prefer to listen or be alone, I can be rather lively in a conversation when it's with good friends about deep subjects. But put me in a room of full of strangers (or lots of bustling), and everything shuts down. I suddenly become withdrawn, easily distracted, and quite literally unable to think, let alone socialize. Before I understood that introversion was a "thing," I attributed this "social awkwardness" to a horrible case of chronic shyness. And let me tell you: it scared me. I hated how "spacey" and quiet I was, because I felt it was limiting me. I even went through a phase where I feared I was doomed to be a janitor because I couldn't handle social situations very well.

What am I ever going to accomplish in life, I thought, when I'm so damn quiet?

It took a long time, a lot of pain, and one enormous identity crisis before I began to accept myself. After many years of trying force myself to be crowd-loving, I realized one day that those efforts were always about "fitting in" and pleasing others, instead of about what I truly yearned. On closer inspection, I found that I preferred to spend time alone and play the silent observer, not because I was afraid of people or had low self-esteem, but because it made me happy. If I was content with my own quiet nature, what did it matter what others thought? (I was too quiet to bother them anyway.)

As time has passed, I've been blessed to develop friendships with people who love and accept me as I am, giving me the courage to (by my own choice) come out of my loner's shell on occasion. I've become increasingly comfortable with myself as I've discovered that introversion is not only normal (and surprisingly common), but also has many values. An introvert might not be well-suited for an assertive corporate job or as a TV talk-show host, but her contemplative nature makes her perfect for artistic, deep-thinking work such as writing. It shouldn't come as a surprise, that behind a quiet and reserved exterior, introverts have a lot to say.

Without further ado, here are six reasons why "awkwardness" has benefited me as writer:

1. Hyper-observant

One of the biggest misunderstandings about introverts, I think, is that our introspective tendencies mean that we like to mentally distance ourselves from the "real world." While it's true that introverts prefer inward reflection to more outward activities, they are actually much more aware and mentally involved in their surroundings than most. Our silence and preference for the sidelines makes observing an enjoyable pastime, but we're also psychologically fit for it too. While extroverts require a lot of stimulation (i.e., arousal of the senses) to feel alert, introverts require very little, meaning even the most "boring" environments are extremely exciting for our brains. (This also explains why introverts are easily overstimulated in busy places.) We notice things more, we see the subtleties of our settings that other people miss, because hyper-stimulation means even small occurrences -- a bird flying by, an old man sinking into a chair -- can set off a lot of mental activity. As an introvert, then, I get excited (at least inside my head) over the little things I observe, making it easy for me to find inspiration anywhere I go.

2. Detail-Oriented

This quality is implied to some degree in the last point, since hyper-observation makes introverts more likely to find interest in the little things. But being detail-oriented also applies to the way introverts work. Contemporary psychology on personality shows that introverts tend to be extremely attentive to the details of any given task, making them prefer to work slowly and deliberately. In other words, we're experts at dotting our i's, crossing our t's, and reading between the lines. I often poke fun at my perfectionism when it comes to writing, but more and more I've come to see the value of it as a creative writer. Being detail-oriented and conscientious means that I'm less inclined to produce halfhearted, unpolished work, and instead place my full dedication into every thing I write. I am meticulous about every tiny sentence, naturally aware of detailed elements like word rhythms, poetic sound, etc. It doesn't mean I'm perfect (I have a long way to go talent-wise). It just means that I'm more likely to pay attention to the details of my prose.

3. Love for All Things Deep

Ever wonder why your introvert friend struggles with small-talk? It's not because she hates people. Quite the opposite. Introverts love to get to know people -- really know them -- by delving deep, longing for conversations that are more personal and intimate than society deems acceptable for everyday chit-chat. We love to know what makes people unique, their life stories, their dreams and fears. While intimate discussions off-the-bat can make an extrovert uncomfortable, introverts thrive on sharing authenticity, and are not afraid to seek out the painful, fragile, even ugly sides of people's minds. As a writer, I've learned to apply my love for deep discussions to my advantage; I use my conversations to discover what hidden battles people are fighting, and consequently write in a way that explores the depth of human emotion.

Wow, looks like I've already filled a significant amount of space for this. Guess you'll have to wait 'til next week to finish the list.

Grace and peace to you.