In her book Around the Writer’s Block, Rosanne Bane recommends something called Process Time as a way to maximise writing joy and efficiency. It’s time you schedule and spend creatively, but not on something you intend to sell. You’re not making a product; the point is to put your brain in creative mode without immediately throwing it at your current work in progress. It could be knitting, coloring, flower arranging–you pick something you like, and you spend at least 15 minutes for 3-5 days per week doing that thing.
My thing is drawing, and the consistent practice has leveled up my comfortably plateau-ed artistic abilities for the first time in a decade. What surprised me was how what I did in my drawings echoed my writing. When I draw like I always have, I sketch tiny little lines like I’m painting them together, watching the sketch take shape without knowing exactly where it’s going. I might know I’m drawing a face, but I don’t know if I’m drawing it at 3/4 or head-on until it just kind of happens. I folllow what feels right until there’s a face there, and then I erase and redraw until I like it or give up.
It doesn’t have to be that way, but for some reason the thought “envision the shape you want to draw with great intention and draw it in one bold line” just hadn’t occurred to me. I started challenging myself to imagine the line I would draw before drawing it, and to use as few applications of the pencil to paper as possible. It felt strange, but I could do it.
Take it back to writing. Upon being told about querying, I vividly remember a family member asking: “If all agents ask for is three chapters and a synopsis, why don’t you just write those and give up on the book if no one wants it? Wouldn’t that save a lot of time?” While this plan fails the moment it meets with success (you can’t send a full manuscript you haven’t written), it also felt impossible because so much of my plotting is done in those sketchy lines. The real, more complex shape of the book isn’t clear until I’ve fumbled several times. The past few years I’ve gotten better at outlining story beats, but the process is far from perfect. I wish for those bold lines; I wish I could plan efficiently and execute according to plan.
Back to drawing. So: I’d learned I could draw bold lines. I could take the time to see the image in my head more fully and have it come out like I imagined, at least within the considerable limits of my skills. I felt like a god–but I don’t always want to fully envision the thing and then draw the thing. In learning I could do it differently, I realized I like that little bit of space between what I have planned and what comes out. There’s some kind of conscious/unconscious mind harmony that happens, with the results surprising me or teaching me something because I’ve drawn myself into a corner and now have to learn how to draw some weird hand position. Deliberately being my chaotic self while I draw made me realize I might actually value my writing process. This is crazy to me. Hating my process is central to my life–and yet.
If I could choose, would I really choose to outline everything ahead of time? Would I streamline my books, follow a formula? Habit has me screaming yes, but calm self-inquiry says differently. Between this revelation and all the meditation I’ve been doing, both alone and with a wonderful local group, I’m becoming dangerously enlightened. I am not becoming faster–but I’ll settle for happier, for now.
PS – even people who plan well get stuck. The secret is that there is no perfect process, but enjoying your process is key. I really do recommend that book!