Low-tech Writing Strategies

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Recently I blogged about my favorite high-tech writing tool, Scrivener. Today, though, a bit about the benefits of going low-tech–at least some of the time.

It’s not just me, either. Award-winning author Neal Stephenson describes how writing with an old-fashioned fountain pen fits in his writing process:

JM: You write with a fountain pen.

NS: Yes.

JM: Have you always done that?

NS: No…I’ve become such a fast typist that I could slam out great big blocks of text quite rapidly — anything that came into my head, it would just dribble out of my fingers onto the screen. That includes bad stuff as well as good stuff. Once it’s out there on the screen, of course, you can edit it and you can fix the bad stuff, but it’s far better not to ever write down the bad stuff at all. With the fountain pen, which is a slower output device, the material stays in the buffer of your head for a longer period. So during that amount of time, you can fix it, you can make it better, you can even decide not to write it down at all — you can think better of writing it. Editing, strangely enough, is quicker and easier with a pen. Because drawing a line through a word is just faster than any sequence of grabbing your mouse and highlighting the word and hitting the eject key. That act of editing leaves behind a visible trace of the word that you decided to change, and sometimes that’s useful; you may want to go back and change your mind about that. Finally, I find that writing with a pen is a physically healthier activity. There’s actually more range of movement involved with it than there is sitting with your fingers on the keys for hours at a time. So I just physically felt better when I was using the pen rather than typing.

The idea that slow is better may come as a surprise–but the time to think is a big boon, especially for folks who tend to write best through a careful first draft. Another thing here: how it feels to be writing. I share Stephenson’s sense that there’s something more satisfying physically in long-hand composition. (For me, another benefit is the reduced temptation to distract myself from my task via the Internet.)

My writing process is a hybrid one. Although I tend to write “the real novel” with a word processor, much of my pre-writing happens long hand. I work extensively in two notebooks. The first is a medium-sized moleskin for jotting ideas, taking notes, copying quotes. The second is a larger-format notebook dedicated to a single novel project. I work in it from both sides, one side for research and background information, the other for character development, exploratory sketches, and preliminary scenes.

Stephenson’s process has a few more elements worth reading about. Here he discusses the different pens he uses and why:

NS: … I’ve got this one here, which is a Waterman, that my wife gave me in, probably, 1988. So that’s a twenty-year-old pen. It’s got a fine nib, and I don’t normally use it for first drafts. I use this for editing. I’ve got a couple of fat-nib pens that I tend to use for the first draft. One is an extremely high-tech Jorg Hysek pen that’s made out of carbon fiber and advanced metals; it looks like a cruise missile. I wouldn’t buy such a thing, but someone gave it to me, and it’s my favorite for first draft stuff. Then I’ve got another Waterman, a Rotring, and a couple of others. I tend to do first draft in a thick nib. And I have different color of ink in each pen. Then I go back the next day with this Waterman, and do the editing pass, so I can see the contrasting colors and line widths, and kind of assemble a history in my own mind of how this page came into being.

Of course, you don’t need to go buy any fancy-pants pens, but you might find that changing colors at different stages of composition helps you organize your process. I’m thinking of giving it a try.

Read the whole interview with Stephenson·here.

The Disappearing Day, or: A Time Warp in Paris?

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This appears to be the time warp that swallowed Thursday.

We got up Friday morning resolved to figure out our plans for Saturday and Sunday, since September 17-18 are Journées du Patrimoine — Heritage Days — in France. This holiday means that many museums are free and everybody gets special access to tons of buildings and sites usually closed to the public.

Imagine our surprise when we discovered that our Friday morning was actually… Saturday.

Now, there were some clues, like the fact that when we walked home last night we’d seen the poles and shelters that they put out the day before the outdoor market, which usually happens on Saturday.

“You think they’re doing it a day early because of the holiday?” we asked each other.

Then there were all the school kids running around like it was the start of the weekend–and the French people carrying luggage. “I guess the Thursday before a holiday is a big deal here. You’d think it’s Friday!” we said.

It sounds silly, but Arnie and I were both so convinced that it was still Thursday that we checked all of our devices and even got out an old-fashioned calendar.

We tried to figure out, based on what we did this week, what day it must be. Here’s our list:

Monday: Explored neighborhoods within walking distance without using the Metro (too close to September 11, and if the US is enemy #1, the French are not exactly popular with Muslim extremists, either). Lunch in Belleville, the Asian quarter. Spotted a bubble tea store.

Tuesday: trip to Nanterre to turn in more paperwork. Tour of Notre Dame. Played in park with Liam.

Wednesday: shopping at outdoor market. Purchased Metro pass for Ashley. Trip to public library to get library card while Liam rearranges books in children section and a grumpy French guy follows behind him putting them back. Checked out nursery schools for Liam. Trek to Auchan (kind of like Walmart, only with crappier stuff that costs more… but good for the Paris poor like us) to buy toys and try to find dried beans.

Thursday (allegedly): Checked out nursery schools for Liam. Trek to Auchan (kind of like Walmart, only with crappier stuff that costs more… but good for the Paris poor like us) to buy toys and try to find dried beans.

Thursday Friday: Play date with new friends and their toddler daughter in the morning. Got rained on. Continued quest for cheap, non-dairy protein source. (Success! dried black beans discovered in Asian market in Belleville.) More chicken soup for dinner.**

Apparently the day we lost was Thursday, and what we thought we did Wednesday afternoon really happened the next day. I don’t know if you can tell, but I’m still in denial about this whole thing. In my heart, I just don’t believe that the calendars are right. I’m still looking for the missing day…

** I accidentally made about 10 gallons of chicken soup that we will be eating until Christmas.

Fancy-pants foodie recipes devolve into THIS.

gourmet.com

Okay, I love looking at pictures of beautiful food. I love thinking about making it. Especially beautiful desserts like this one from Gourmet. But sometimes, it all just starts looking too difficult, complicated. Don’t get me wrong: I can handle my cookie recipes just fine, but start telling me to make a crumb-sealing layer on a cake, and I start to get tired. Here’s, “My Drunk Kitchen,” the cookies episode with a nice send-up of the “secret codes” in recipes. If you aren’t laughing by the end, well, loosen the f**k up.*

*That last bit wasn’t really as gratuitous as it seems: it’s a way of warning you that there’s some casual bad language in the video.

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Stakeouts, knives, graffiti, and more: The truth about researching THE KNIFE AND THE BUTTERFLY

http://www.flickr.com/photos/jetheriot/2291861967

Last week I told you to go see an expert instead of cruising the Internet for information. Now I get down off my high horse and tell you about my own research while writing The Knife and the Butterfly (coming in 2012).

Okay, so lots of times research for my writing takes place in the comforting company of books. Among other things, I read tons of interviews with MS-13 gang members, combed scholarly works on gang culture and inner-city experience, paged through dozens of street artists’ black books, and dug into linguistic textbooks to understand the (different) structure of Salvadoran Spanish. 

But here are my top non-book research experiences in writing The Knife and the Butterfly .

My (daytime) stakeouts in Southwest Houston while researching The Knife and the Butterfly. Less glamorous than it sounds since I left tailing gangmembers to investigative reporters. Mostly I just watched an apartment building for an afternoon and took lots of pictures of the area.

Finding out how a particular knife (important to the story) would actually be used, which I did by joining www.bladeforums.com. The great thing was how helpful lots of the responders on the forum were in responding to my questions. Less awesome was how touchy some folks got at an outsider asking a question, but, hey, I learned what I needed to learn to make sure that I got my knife scenes right. And my book’s not an anti-knife manifesto or anything. Doesn’t that count for something?

Emailing a doctor friend for the down-low on a particular chest wound. (I wish I could tell you more, but then…). The detail he offered was awesome. So much better than what I got when I tried Googling my question. Seriously, y’all, don’t forget to ask smart people the questions you have. Use your networks! (See last week’s post for my call to ask an expert.)

Tracking Houston graffiti and street art through Flickr.com. Flickr, I love you. Can we please be best friends forever?

Watching videos on YouTube to listen to Salvadoran Spanish.

Wow, a lot of Internet cruising there, huh?  So maybe take all my advice (like last week’s) with a grain of salt. And think outside the Wikipedia box when using the Internet.

Living inside my character’s skin… all the way from Paris

Kamil Porembiński, http://www.flickr.com/photos/paszczak000/6048923977

Moving to Paris for the year might not seem like the most logical way to connect with the characters in my new novel, which (like the first 2) is set in Texas–although this time in 1930s East Texas. But I’ve actually been learning a lot about what my character might feel and how she might feel it. Let me explain.

This is not the first time I’ve lived abroad, but it is the first time that I’ve done so as a mom. And I feel the challenges of getting oriented in a new place and a foreign language much more acutely when my mommy “in-charge-ness” is impaired.

My character isn’t a mom, but she is in charge of her twin siblings. And she’s an outsider–one of a handful of Mexican Americans who lived in East Texas at the time. In my novel, she moves from San Antonio (where there’s been a Hispanic presence longer than an Anglo one) to near Kilgore because her father has gotten work there. And because of the schools. The booming oil fields at the time meant big tax revenues, so this area had some of the best-equipped public schools in the nation. In the absence of a large Hispanic population, East Texas only had schools segregated into “black” and “white.” By contrast, places like San Antonio often had “Mexican” schools characterized by similar inequalities as those found in black schools throughout the South. So living in East Texas–while it certainly meant daily discrimination in many areas of life–could also open up opportunities since the kids would get enrolled in the white school.

But I’m drifting from the point of this post: what I’m learning about Naomi by being here. Often the scariest thing about being in an unfamiliar place is that it’s familiar to everyone around you. If you’re going through a complicated, frustrating process (like college registration in the days before Internet) with a bunch of other people, it’s still annoying, but it’s not scary or alienating. But when you’re surrounded by folks who can’t imagine why you don’t know how to manage the Metro (not just the stops, but also the tricky little tickets which can only be bought with coins or a special European credit card, getting baby through the turnstiles, and the OBVIOUS fact that coins desensitize the strips), it can feel pretty lonely and scary. Can you tell I spent an afternoon just trying to figure out how to buy a fare?

Character connection: what “ordinary” aspects of life in East Texas would feel foreign to Naomi? What would she be homesick for? I need to get my bewildered self to my writer’s notebook fast before I get all sorted out here and mine these mounds of fatigue and confusion for writing material…

Stop Dreaming and Start Scrivener-ing

lifereboot.com

You know how sometimes you fantasize about this perfect tool that will make a really hard job magically more manageable? And how most of the time that fantasy remains, well, just a fantasy?

Well, here’s good news for writer types dreaming of a software tool that will let you keep track of your brilliant (and not-so-brilliant) ideas, sort them, and shape them steadily into a novel (or term paper, screenplay, or other longer work that strikes your fancy).

Scrivener.

I’m writing my third novel in Scrivener, and I like it. A lot. If you don’t know about Scrivener, you should. It’s available for Mac and PC (in a beta version, I think). For what you get, it’s a freaking bargain–plus there’s a student discount available. There’s an overview of Scrivener in this post on becoming a better writer, and the YA writer Justine Larbalestier recently blogged about writing her hit novel Liar with Scrivener, and she hits most of the high points. Here’s her testimonial:

Scrivener made outlining unnecessary. It allowed me to see the structure as it emerged from the various pieces I was writing. I have no idea how I would have kept track of everything without software that’s designed to allow you to manage such a big and complicated text as a novel.

It has both changed how I write as well as what I’m able to write. Scivener has been a revelation.

More from me later on the specifics of my process with Scrivener. This will be after I figure out that process myself.

Experts Trump the Internet. I Swear.

Salim Photography: http://www.flickr.com/photos/abufaiqa/4408154571/

History: go find it live.

I like a short cut as well as anyone else, but sometimes–especially when it comes to research for writing–the Internet can’t deliver the details you can get from an expert.

The Internet is great for a quick fact check, but when you want depth, it’s best to seek out resources that aren’t stored there.

An instructor at a writing conference put it this way: “If you want to find out about stamps, skip the Internet and go talk to a collector.” You get to the right information more quickly. This is especially important for writers who may not have a specific question (“When was X coin put into use?”) but want to gather more general material. Sometiems you don’t even know what you want to know yet.

This is where I find myself as I research life in Depression-era East Texas. Internet is so-so for help. Books are better. Regional museums and primary materials, even better. But best of all: oral histories and real interviews. That’s how I’ve gotten the best level of detail to lend the right texture to my new novel-to-be. Plus I don’t spend so much time drifting through semi-helpful web content when I should be writing.

Paris, here we come!

It’s official: the Pérez family is going to Paris for the year! We just received our visas, and we fly out on Sunday.

Here’s the scoop: I’ll be teaching English at Université Paris Ouest (La Défénse) a couple of days a week, working on novel #3, and thinking about my dissertation. Arnulfo will do prep work for his PhD qualifying review. Liam will be focused on a good nap schedule (a real challenge in our one-bedroom place!) and exploring the parks of Paris.

The rest of the time, we’ll be soaking up as much of Paris as we can as a family.

Our apartment is in the 20th arrondissement about 8 blocks from Père Lachaise Cemetery. If anyone has tips for living in Paris–cheap eats, shopping, places to explore–feel free to pass them on!

Stay tuned, too, for posts and pictures!

Loving on Steve Brezenoff’s BROOKLYN, BURNING

From http://www.stevebrezenoff.com/

 

Steve Brezenoff’s latest novel, Brooklyn, Burning, sets the bar high for punk-friendly, slacker-sweet, gender-indifferent YA. And it takes on the issues facing many LGBT teens in the wisest way possible: by refusing to make those issues all that the book is about. Here’s the summary yoinked from Brezenoff’s website:

When you’re sixteen and no one understands who you are, sometimes the only choice left is to run. If you’re lucky, you find a place that accepts you, no questions asked. And if you’re really lucky, that place has a drum set, a place to practice, and a place to sleep. For Kid, the streets of Greenpoint, Brooklyn, are that place. Over the course of two scorching summers, Kid falls hopelessly in love and then loses nearly everything and everyone worth caring about. But as summer draws to a close, Kid finally finds someone who can last beyond the sunset.

Brooklyn, Burning‘s strongest statement about gender and sexual identity comes through what goes unsaid. The biological sex of the two main characters is never explicitly identified, and the “you” and “I” and strategic phrasing that make this possible work without calling too much attention to themselves. And yet, of course, the reader notices what has been strategically elided. But by the end, we’re convinced (or at least I was) that a love story can be a love story without being the story of boy meets girl (or boy meets boy, or girl meets girl). It’s kind of like Georges Perec proving that a novel can be written without the letter “e” (L’Apparition). Only maybe less extreme. And a bit more to the point. But you know what I mean.

I, for one, stand in awe. Brooklyn, Burning belongs in library collections, bookstores, and your bookshelf. So get on that.

Becoming a Finisher: Imagining Success as a Writer (and making it happen)

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 In a writing workshop, Karen Joy Fowler once told us aspiring writing types that she had encountered many writers she believed were more talented than she was who nevertheless failed to make it into print. (FYI: Karen is an amazing writing teacher, by the way—tops all others despite the awesomeness of many of the writers I’ve gotten to learn from.)

She attributed this most from a failure to persist and carry projects through. Writers write, yes, but novelists finish. 

I keep coming back to that bit of advice, and thanks to Karen, I envision myself in something like that reading status bar at the bottom of an e-reader: wherever I am in my writing process, I’m thinking about my position in terms of my final goal, a finished novel.

(Which is not to say that, by any means, I write straight through from beginning to end. I’m more of a start-with-the-marshmallows writer, and when I outline, it’s often backwards outlining—outlining after writing to see the structure of what I have and discover ways of reworking.)

But I try not to lose sight of the fact that I’m working on a grand project, and I will have to persist to find my way to the end. I also try not to lose sight of the fact that writing at all, even if just for 15 minutes a day, moves me closer to that destination. Here’s a bit of positive self-talk from my post-baby, mid-qualifying-exams writer’s notebook:

“Writing doesn’t require brilliance or inspiration so much as persistence. What am I going to do today, tomorrow, and the next day to create a writing routine, however small?”

Bottom line: I want to be a finisher. Bottom line #2: there ought to be a “finisher” T-shirt for writers like there is for marathon runners.

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All materials © 2026 Ashley Hope Pérez. Author website by Websy Daisy.