Authors: How do you see yourself writing?

Hypoxia

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This is a self-visualization question. How do you see yourself writing? What metaphor (if any) describes your writing process?

I see myself as a sculptor. Some may start with a block of marble and chisel away until a form emerges. I'm more of a clay sculptor.

I start with an armature, a framework. I may build the entire framework before I start filling it in; i.e. start with a fairly complete outline. Or the frame may be built on-the-fly as I add the clay; i.e. I make it all up as I go along.

Then, it's a matter of slapping clay (words) onto that frame. I'll shove in a few more globs. I'll scrape away some excess. I'll pull a glob out from *here* and stick it in over *there*.

In other words, I'm slapping clay, and molding, and shaving, and detailing, until I like what I see. Then I let it sit awhile, still metaphorically wet. A couple days later, I look at it again, and maybe slap and shave and smooth and detail it a bit more. Eventually, I'll call it DONE.

So, how do you produce stories?
 
One word at a time. And, on a good day, the words surprise and delight me.
So then, do you see yourself as a hose, spraying out words like water? Garden hose or fire hose? Or are you more of a dripping faucet? Think, Chinese water torture. One word. Plop. Pause. Next word. Plop. Pause. Next word. Continue till whenever.
 
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Weaving is the metaphor I usually think of. Though, I also think about building a faux animal: first a skeleton like you'd see at a museum, then flesh like clay, then texturing and details on the surface, then turn it on and it walks away to be someone's robotic pet.
 
Interesting question. For me it's like being an observer. At first I'm looking from a great distance and I can see the shape of the whole story, but no detail, then as I focus on different areas, details emerge and I'll have a rough outline. When I start writing the story proper it's like zooming in. The rough outline may show a couple chatting in a coffee bar, but when I go to write the dialogue, what they're saying is more often than not a surprise.

It's a funny one. I've been making up stories in my head for as long as I can remember, but my parents frowned on it, so I got out of the habit of writing them down., but certainly the one story I have on here went in a different direction than I thought it was going to. I don't know if that points to a lack of discipline on my part or what, but it's interesting to me that the process seems more like one of discovery than creation.
 
This is a self-visualization question. How do you see yourself writing? What metaphor (if any) describes your writing process?


In the movie "Lake Placid" Oliver Platt is talking to Brenden Gleeson about a dream he's had. He tells how in his dream all the kids in his neighborhood are using his head as a soccer ball.

And there he is his head rolling around, being kicked all over the place, and he's feeling just happy that they're letting him play.

Most of the time when I'm writing that's how I feel about my writing so...

I guess enough kicks to the head to get me started and I will just somehow manage to let all the rolling around knock out a few good stories.

Just happy to play.

MST
 
I'll throw in another metaphor: Writing is like a relationship between author and text. Maybe a love-hate relationship.

And sometimes, I'm a cheater. I lavish all my love and energy and time on one story. But then I get bored, looking for thrills, and I neglect it to write on other stories. I'm cheating on the first one. But I can't help it! Hey, it's only sex, it doesn't mean anything, I still love you, yada yada. But it still feels like I'm sneaking around on that important story.

And finally, that story is done, and I divorce it and move on, just like serial monogamy. And the next story... well, I'll probably cheat on *IT* too. Like I said, I can't help myself.
 
I'd be one of those artists that just grab a bunch of paint cans and start splattering paint onto a canvas or wall.

No real plan beyond what basic colors and which one to start and which one to end with.

The paint just keeps flying along haphazardly no time to stop and look at it, not time to wonder how its turning out and certainly not worrying about how the other artists do it.

When the paints gone I step back...

and its a fairly nice painting that looks as if it were well thought out.
 
I weave. Snake mating, seasonal affective disorder, and Valentine's Day, for example.
 
I breathe life into the characters, give them a place to play, and then nudge them in the general direction I want them to go.

I mostly feel like a director when I'm writing.
 
I get very quiet and listen. Most of my pieces are voiced.
So I would say that I start hiking, alone and on the trail,
I hear the first few words. Hopefully more words follow,
so I can give the voice - form - in words.
 
How do I see myself writing?

Well, I wish I could say that I was a sculptor, or a weaver, or a hiker. Those all sound really cool. In practice, though, I'm more like the kid who wants a "clubhouse" or "fort".

Ummm... actually, better make that an ADD kid who wants one.

I'm sure there are kids out there who know what a fort should look like. And perhaps even have the skills with tools to build a dream into reality. Nope, not one of those.

I'm more like the kid who's parents get some large appliance in a box that is big enough for the child to get into. And perhaps manages to sneak a knife out of the silverware drawer to replace the marker in making a door and window.

However, cardboard is pretty cool when you're four, but so very passé when you're eight. And there are those fence planks that Dad has replaced over the years piled up behind the storage shed until he gets the time to haul them off. All the power tools have been locked up since the debacle with Mom running around screaming. (It wasn't like I was trying to cut my nose off. Sheesh.)

But, I know where he keeps the hacksaw. And I think I saw some nails lying around somewhere...

Ooh! Is that a bag of cement over in the corner of the garage covered in dust an inch thick? Hah! Wait 'til Jimmy sees I have a concrete fort! His prissy little wooden fort would fall over in a stout wind!

I don't understand why everybody makes this so hard. Gotta mix water with the concrete mix and then let it dry. Ok, no problem. But, why mix it in the wheelbarrow and then slather it on where I actually wanted it to go in the first place. There's a water hose over there that will reach, so I'll just dump this concrete mix on top of the cardboard box and...

;)

Ok, maybe I'm not quite that bad. But, more often than not, here lately, I get so caught up in the story that I forget I'm writing it instead of reading it. I'll start off with an idea of what I want the story to be and scrape up a first word from somewhere. The word becomes a sentence becomes a paragraph becomes a page and I realize I've lost the original idea somewhere. So, I file it, re-open notepad and start again.

If that other idea takes over three times, then I let it run to see where it will go until I either finish it or get bored enough with it that I know I won't. So far, I've managed sixteen rickety clubhouses and discovered three thousand four hundred and thirty seven ways not to make a fort.

But, I guess I'll keep tryin' to figure it out 'til they roll me in a blanket with my last carton and feed me to the flames. :D
 
So many analogies might apply and apply to different aspects of the writing process, but for me there is the archaeologist as I sift through the sands to uncover something that exists buried before my inner eyes and then narrator as I translate the broken pieces back into one story. The pieces could be many stories, I set forth just one interpretation.
 
It's like I'm standing on a dry riverbed held by iron chains as the flood waters approach. All I can do is prepare myself (get my tablet and coffee ready) before the water consumes me.

That's kind of what it's like I guess.
 
I guess I see myself as a window. All I have to do is open the window and the stories flow through me from somewhere above. I don't see myself as going searching for anything but the minor details that set the setting up--and a review or two afterward when I can savor (and tone up a bit) what poured through the window without me doing much more than keeping the window open.
 
I guess I see myself as a window. All I have to do is open the window and the stories flow through me from somewhere above. I don't see myself as going searching for anything but the minor details that set the setting up--and a review or two afterward when I can savor (and tone up a bit) what poured through the window without me doing much more than keeping the window open.

I think this analogy fits many others though described differently.

Writing flows pure and simple and we would all be hard pressed to say where it comes from to someone who cannot do it.

I see writing as a gift. We take it for granted everyone here can write a story and can lose track of the fact not everyone can.

My sister is a talented painter, but can't tell a joke let alone write story, I on the other hand can barely draw stick figures so writing is truly a gift not everyone shares.

The details are something everyone has to stop the flow and sit back and say, "yes, we do have to set some rules here" but if you don't have that initial flow and ability those details are a moot point.
 
LOL, these are some interesting visions of how you all see yourselves. I haven't actually thought of how I picture myself in the process of producing the art of writing a story. Luckily, beauty is in the eye eye of the beholder, so my 'art' is liked by some.

As fun as it sounds, I can't see myself as a sculptor or builder. Despite what others call me, I am simply an observer. I'm a fly on the wall, or a passer-by that sees and hears too much. I'm the mind reader who is polite enough to ignore the skeletons in the closet, only to capture the thoughts in the moment. I'm the invisible man that follows the characters, looking over their shoulders with a smile on my face.

As I enjoy sharing the experience with my fleet of spy-mode observers, I jot down what I see happening, even though it's all being recorded in my underground spy headquarters datacenter. Sometimes I'm at the command center watching through all of my agent's eyes, sometimes I beam into the agent to witness it all first hand. I can feel and smell the action that way instead of merely watching the screen. All the while, I'm taking notes so I don't forget anything.

After the events are all played out I sit back with my notes. My spies have done a good job, so they go home while I write up the report of what happened. I want to go home too, so I set aside the report once I think it's good. When I come back to it, I use the recorded footage to make sure I got everything right, as well as making sure I can spell.

My hands trembling, I submit my final report to the boss. She's quite busy since her fleet of observers, like me, are constantly flooding her with their own reports. Hopefully Laurel will deem my report acceptable, then making it available to her customers for their final vote.
 
I like to imagine being a little kid responsible for the care and feeding of the plot bunny I've been entrusted with.

Not only do I have to make sure I have things for it to nibble on, but I also have to discover what strokes to its fur will make its nose twitch, which attention to its long ears will bring about a happy set of eyes, tempting a reaction by taking a tug at its cottony tail, and being willing to see if tummy rubs will bring on a set of thumping furry feet.

Ultimately; if I have done my job correctly; it will eventually be time to set him loose so he can go romp in the meadows of Lit and adopt the next one.
 
I don't know how I see myself. I just type.

As for metaphors, I always use the combination lock analogy. You know how in movies or video games, a guy hacks a combination look (or picks a lock) by slowly turning the gears and listening to any clicking noises.

That's what it feels like to me. I alternate ideas until I hear that "click," and once I hear it, I know I have what I'm looking for, and a plot point is born.

Then I write the scenes like I'm a fly in the wall, and I'm watching the characters interact. I try to write the dialogue realistically, and I use basic descriptions to describe what they're doing.
 
Like some filthy little grub burrowed away in my attic (even when I'm not there) plucking at smokey threads of words, unpicking some vast celestial sweater of language in the hope of having enough wool to poke through the keys and please myself.
 

Interesting comment! Arthur C. Clarke used to deplore the term "word processor" and suggested "word loom" instead.

I see myself as a mosaicist, taking little pieces of life, rearranging them for effect and to see which pieces fit where, to make a larger image.
 
Every time I read the title to your thread, I have this image . . .

Sitting at the desk, using the laptop.


Smart ass answer. I know.

Better a smart-ass than a dumb-ass, anyway. ;)

Desk? Keyboard? Reminds me of the constipated mathematician who worked it out with a pencil.

Hey, there's another possible writing metaphor: The author as mathematician, crunching words instead of numbers, building equations of relationships and actions, plugging ideas into formulae. Something like that. Does anyone here visualize themselves this way?
 
I think I'm like a carpenter, a framer first and a finisher later on. I write the basic story and then come back later to fill in details and so forth. Sometimes the story changes, sometimes not.
 
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