For when you don't know where to start.
WHEN (HOW) TO BEGIN WRITING
Right away, if you haven’t already. And all day long. Seriously. “Writing” is far more than the physical act. “Writing” also precedes the choosing of the right words and spelling them correctly and arranging them inside of punctuations so that they represent coherent thoughts. Reading is also writing, because writing requires it. Being amongst people, listening to them speak, is also writing because crafting dialogue requires it. Practicing being in hermit mode is also writing, because writing takes solitude. And sitting outside is also writing.
Loving: also writing. Getting into fights, having a bad day, getting stood up for a date? Also “writing.” Watching films. Trying new cuisines. Doing what frightens you is writing, too. Avoiding what frightens you is writing, too. Traveling someplace, or finding cheaper local thrills because you don’t yet have funds or free time for travel—these things are also writing. Call it firsthand research. Because if you have no experience to translate, how can you translate experience? How can you write? What will you write without experience?
Part of the standardized advice of “Write what you know” is knowing what you can write. Knowing your own struggles and pain points and pleasures. Which requires being present in your own living, which serves as an example of how you can present your characters being present in their own lives. Knowing what it feels like for cool bathwater to relieve sun-dried skin is also writing. Being moved to tears by a children's concerto is also writing. Building that bookshelf Lorde talks about in “Uses of the Erotic” is writing, too.
WHEN (HOW) TO PUT WORDS ON THE PAGE
Now, for when to arrive at the page to write the “writing” you have done. One moment can do it. A single gesture or slice of speech. A balloon bursting. A stopped clock. A meeting adjourning or an automobile collision or a dog wrestling with the rope tying it to the post, the dog emerging the victor—free and loose. One moment can do it, to begin. To begin, unfold the moment. Open it backward and forward. (Or, perhaps only backward. Or, perhaps only forward.) What happens a moment before the selected moment? What causes the dog to vie for its freedom? And moment after the selected moment? What happens when the dog breaks loose?
And continue: what takes place the moment before the moment before the selected moment? What happens after the moment after it? Opening the moment back and forward again and again will yield you a scene to work with.
Option 1: Write the scene and see where it leads.
Option 2: Like you’ve done with the initial moment, open the scene backward and forward in time. (Or maybe only backward in time, or maybe only forward.) What happens in the scene before this scene? What happens in the scene that follows this scene? What happens before the “before” scene? And what happens after the “after” scene? Doing this again and again curates a collection of scenes, a timeline of events and experiences, from which to draw material that supports the “story” of your narrative.
Option 3: Combine the two options. Improvisation meets prefabrication. At times, discover the next moment, the next scene, as you go. At other times, as needed, pull out—zoom out and chart a proper direction so that the “story” of your narrative remains on track.
The story of your project is what the writing is about. The story deals with plot, lessons, thematics. The narrative of your project is about how the story gets told. The narrative deals with language, devices, structure—schematics. As with the above, so it is with what’s below: either you chart these story/narrative aspects beforehand or you figure them out as you go—or you do a combination of both.
Further Reading:
For an accessible, practical resource on building out your writing project, we recommend This Year You Write Your Novel (2007) by Walter Mosley.