I got into a short conversation the other day about how crafting a story is a lot like woodworking, or for that matter, virtually any artistic pursuit. I'm going to stick with woodworking because I'm familiar with the process...and I'm pretty darn good at it.
I'm a pretty good writer too.
The parallels are incredible. When I get the tingle that there's a story to be told...a book to be written...the ideas begin to form, jumbled and raw, scattered about like so many trees felled and awaiting their fate.
And like the jumble of oak or walnut or pine I need to let the raw logs season a bit. I need to sort and organize and select.
And I need some help. I need someone to bounce ideas off of, often in
what-if conversations or
I've- been-thinking conversations. I need someone to saw the logs into raw lumber so I can see what might be worth using and what might well become firewood and eventually...ashes.
Finally the raw lumber is seasoned, the ideas are mature enough to be useful, and the project begins to take shape.
Being a plotter is, to me, crucial in both wordworking and woodworking. It is very important to have the basics laid out just so or the story will lack structure and integrity, or at the very least will waste my valuable time and energy as it wanders off in useless directions. With woodworking, the boards from the stack must be inspected closely for color and grain as well as size. The craftsman hates to waste valuable stock. There is method to the madness.
There is no shame in having a plan to begin with. An outline. A schematic. A blueprint.
There is also no shame in veering from the plan. Perhaps a bit of cherry as an accent might look striking against the dark moodiness of the black walnut. Perhaps the slats of the chair would look good just a bit taller or just a bit thinner than the original plan.
The rough cuts are made. The writing begins. You'd better have your tools sharp and at hand.
I do not believe there is any place for liquor in either the woodshop or the wordshop until the day's work is done and the dangerous maiming tools are put away. Nothing can send your story to near irrepairable places than a couple of beers or a toddy.
Now, standing back and admiring the days cuts...the dadoes, the tenons and mortices, the first sense of the construction...that can call for a contemplative drink or two. Reading over the day's work is much the same. But resist the urge to turn on the tablesaw or the router. Resist the urge to make major changes in the story at this point. The results can be bloody.
The story begins to actually take shape, to make sense, to have a soul and a direction. The project begins to look like something other that bits of wood and flecks of sawdust.
This can be a very dark time. Decisions made now can affect the rest of the story. A variation from the plan can make make the chair wobbly or lopsided.
Early mistakes can be caught as well. A mortise cut on the wrong side of the leg can be fixed by recutting a rail and moving the tenon to match the mortise.
A character flaw can be fixed. Tension can be introduced and heightened. A side arc that isn't working out can be shaved off. This is the stuff of the craft, the very essence of building and writing. It is exciting and gratifying...messy and tedious...and you wouldn't want it any other way!
There becomes, often, a temptation now to hurry things along at this point. That urge must be supressed in both the woodshop and the workshop, I think. Hurrying makes it much more likely that you will make a mistake, and at this point, with so much time and effort put into the creation, do you really want to chance making a mis-cut? Do you want to cut a board that's been through a half dozen processes so far--seasoning, planing, thicknessing, rough sizing, test fitting--do you really want to cut that board a half inch too short?
When I get the urge to hurry toward the end in my writing I have taught myself to set it aside for a time and remember that this is a novel. I'm not on any sort of deadline. I tell myself to try to turn the urgency and excitement into a sort of dogged determination. I take a break. I find something else to do, like a visit to the shop to make a little sawdust and splatter a little glue.
When you write, you have to use all of your tools. When you do a lamination, you regret not buying those clamps that were on sale last week or month. When you are crafting a novel, you regret not having a broader vocabulary and knowledge of punctuation. Thank you, internet and spell check and online thesaurus. Thank you.
And finally, the thing is finished...sort of. The book is written. The chair is carefully glued together over a period of days. It's a living breathing thing now. You feel a great sense of accomplishment. You feel freaking GREAT!
And then you realize that you are far from finished. You feel lousy, at least for a while. There are still things to do. The chair needs the rockers attached and the seat upholstered. Sure , it's a real live chair and solid as a rock, but it isn't quite done yet.
The story needs attention too. An awkward chapter needs revising. You discover that one of the characters has been acting out of character for the last 30 pages and needs to be disciplined. Your main character has picked something up and never put it back down again...
So you begin to edit. Slowly...carefully...thoroughly...you begin to edit. You attach the rockers to the chair. You hand sand the rails and slats with finer and finer abrasive until the wood is as smooth as a baby's butt.
Now you're done. Now the chair can be sat in. The book can be read. The chair rocks. You think the book rocks too, but sadly, you don't count, now.
It's time for the book to be read. I hope you have a group of readers that will review your book and give you an honest critique. It's almost as important as the craftsman having a sharp chisel and a well tuned saw. You might have to go so far as to pay someone to do that...an editor. There's no shame in it, and if you can afford it, I would recommend doing just that.
Another observation I've made is that when you are doing those very last final copy edits...do not get sucked into the story! It's so easy to do, but do not get sucked into the story. Find and kill the bad commas. Make the parentheses behave. But do NOT get sucked into the book.
Finally! The end! Time for the rocking chair to go to its new home...the first grandchild's bedroom. You hope the hours spent crafting the chair will bring comfort and joy to the rock-er and the rock-ee. You hope it will bring nothing but sweet dreams and comfort..
And finally the book is done. It's time for it to go to new homes, to be read and enjoyed by all. It occurs to you that if it makes people laugh, you too are pleased. If it makes them think, you are proud. If it makes them cry, even just a little bit...you are humbled.
I can think of no finer compliment to recieve than to be considered a craftsman, whether you are talking about my woodworking skills...or my word-working skills.
Thank you, most humbly, for your kind words these past few weeks.
Fred Limberg
Please click on the link below. It will take you to the Ferris' Bluff page on Amazon.com. You can read the reviews and buy the e-book. Thanks again, Fred
