[This will be a 2-part post, with “How to Be a Great Edit” coming tomorrow.]
I read an article this morning by Donald M. Murray, Teach Writing as a Process Not Product.
Speaking to English teachers and writing instructors, he says too often we become frustrated because we focus on the product, which is subpar. We want literature and what we’re holding is obviously not it. So we use our training and attempt to point out the errors with the product.
“The product doesn’t improve, and so blaming the student—who else?—we pass him along to the next teacher, who is trained, too often, the same way we were. Year after year the student shudders under a barrage of criticism, much of it brilliant, some of it stupid, and all of it irrelevant. No matter how careful our criticisms, they do not help the student since when we teach composition we are not teaching a product, we are teaching a process.”
Many people remember that shudder in English class…. How many beleaguered souls might find it hugely freeing to see their writing work as a process rather than a product?
And what is the process?
Murray: “It is the process of discovery through language. It is the process of exploration of what we know and what we feel about what we know through language. It is the process of using language to learn about our world, to evaluate what we learn about our world, to communicate what we learn about our world.”
Imagine the freedom if instead of striving to be finished writing, we sought to learn how to communicate well through writing. Not to complete the collection of all the right words just yet, but to continue the search for the one best word.
To get into that frame of mind, we first have to let go of that tyrannical concept of the “Product-as-End-Goal.”
“This is not a question of correct or incorrect, of etiquette or custom. This is a matter of far higher importance. The writer, as he writes, is making ethical decisions. He doesn’t test his words by a rule book, but by life. He uses language to reveal the truth to himself so that he can tell it to others. It is an exciting, eventful, evolving process.”
We can make this important shift easier by dividing the process into three stages: prewriting, writing, and rewriting. And how much time each stage requires depends on personality, work habits, maturity in the craft, and how hard it is to say what we’re trying to say….
…but how long it takes is not an issue once you break the habit of focusing on product over process.
I think this is why it’s so difficult for consumer-blind Westerners: everything but everything is a product. We like measurable things. Tangible things. We like results.
How much? How many? How long? How difficult? How quick?
Try to think of one thing in your life where you’re interested in the process and not the result. Go ahead, I’ll wait….
But even recreational and everyday things like reading and sleep are often results-oriented. If it can’t be measured and quantified, the importance is so ingrained at this point, we don’t even want to deal with it.
And what’s worse, most people don’t even realize they’re doing it.
But gamely, Murray tries to help us quantify the time necessary for the prewriting/writing/rewriting process: prewriting may take about 85% of the writer’s time–I’d say roughly 75%–researching, daydreaming, note-making and outlining.
Writing, merely producing the first draft, “the fastest part of the process and the most frightening” (because you soon find how much you don’t know and face how rough, searching and unfinished your work is), this takes about 1% of your total time!
Rewriting, reconsidering your subject, form, audience, vision, intent, viability, and all the prewriting elements too (research, notes, outline), will take the remaining 14-24% of your time. Murray says in rewriting, everything is rethought and redesigned until finally a line-by-line edit, in which “the demanding, satisfying process of making each word right” is faced.
The point? The whole thing–from prewriting to writing to rewriting–is a process that determines what the product will be.
(Oh, and rewriting may take many times the hours required for writing the first draft.)
And some folks will say “Duh! Of course it is,” but for newer writers, retraining the brain to accept the process is the number one problem I run into. And even many published writers haven’t realized that several completely rewritten drafts are needed before the book is ready for a line-by-line edit, to ensure the best raw material is on the page.
Each draft may progress in a particular area–characters and supporting characters, plot and subplots, theme and metaphor, and setting, dialogue and tone. But slow, careful drafting is what eliminates the distractions and inconsistencies.
It’s also where you learn what you’re really writing. (And no, there’s no shortcut to that discovery, but I’m absolutely convinced it’s the difference between bestsellerdom and obscurity.)
Bottom line, writers who would be professionals must realize the writing craft requires shifting focus from the end goal to the “in medias res”–the “in-the-middle-of” getting there.
How many of the world’s most beloved works went through complete rewrites and multiple drafts? The vast majority? All of them? Does it matter how many once the final draft is done?
More importantly: how much fear, tension and stress could be alleviated if you focused on the process of writing rather than the product?
[Original essay can be found here. Part 2 of this essay on “How to Be a Great Edit” and avoid editing the heart out of your work will appear tomorrow…]