How to Pin Down an Idea with Jennie Nash
My entire book coaching philosophy is based on the idea of thinking before you write – of being intentional about your motivation and your purpose, your point, and your structure. Some people can wing it and find their way, but most writers who are stuck or who struggle, who are new or unsure find a way forward by thinking about what they are writing (and why and how) before they plow ahead.
The necessary thinking is about craft to be sure – form and function, content and voice, structure and argument, scene and plot--but the really big thinking is something different, something deeper.
I mentioned in my last post, Three Fantastic New Books on Writing, that I want to write a writing book that gets at this ineffable thing that rests underneath (or above or around?) the usual things we talk about when we talk about writing. I’m not sure exactly what I mean – and I know that this not knowing is okay. It’s where most writers start and where most book ideas start. The idea exists in some realm beyond words. I can feel it, and almost see it, but I can’t speak it or write it. It’s not there yet.
In order to pin it down – to define it, to identify it – I made a decision to look outward. It’s not actually a decision, I guess – more like an impulse or an instinct. (Recent episodes that touches on similar concepts include #368 (Testing Wild Ideas), #373 (Letting Ideas Evolve), and #374 (From Idea to Execution).
Who Else Has Done This Thing I Want To Do?
I asked myself the simple question: Who else has done this thing I want to do? In some cases, I might watch movies or documentaries, listen to podcasts, and read articles, maybe talk to friends and colleagues. In this case, books pop into my mind.
They are all books of a certain type that stayed with me and changed me. I set about trying to figure out what exactly it is that they are doing that I am attracted to and I came up with this:
In each case, the books are using a seemingly simple topic as a springboard to get at a deeper concept.
Here is what I mean:
The Art of Gathering: How We Meet and Why it Matters by Priya Parker is about running better meetings, events, and parties but it’s really about how to connect people in meaningful ways.
Unreasonable Hospitality: The Remarkable Power of Giving People More Than They Expect by Will Guidara is about running a better restaurant, but it’s really about what it means to truly welcome other people.
Four Thousand Weeks: Time Management for Mortals by Oliver Burkeman is about how to use your time efficiently, but really, it’s about how to connect with what matters most to you.
The Art of Asking: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Let People Help is about how to ask for help but it’s really about how to accept a basic truth about artists and creators: that we need other people to close the loop on what we make.
This is Not a Book About Benedict Cumberbatch: The Joy of Loving Something – Anything – Like Your Life Depends On It by Tabitha Carvan is about being obsessed with Benedict Cumberbatch but it’s really about finding the courage to love what you love. I adore all the books on this list but this last one may be my favorite of these examples. The “not-ness” is baked right into the title, for one thing, which I love. But the experience of reading this book was an experience of present-moment transformation; I felt what Carvan was arguing as I was reading. I felt a rising sense of the power of knowing what you love and the courage it takes to live out that love.
Playing With The Framework
If I put my idea into the framework all five of these books share, I can say that while I will be writing about the mindset of successful (Satisfied? Committed? writers), it’s really about something else. And the something else has to do with the connection to self and others.
I began to write down some ideas about what the something else could be. I lean on phrases I sometimes use with writers, and ones that ping off the Carvan book:
Raising your voice. This is good, this is part of what I mean. It gets at the idea of deciding to be seen and heard, of knowing you have something to say and making sure other people hear it. But it’s not the whole idea.
Claiming space. This is good in a similar way, but limited in the same ways, too.
Finding courage. This is also good. Writers have to find courage to take action and to share, but it’s not the whole idea, either. It’s one-sided. It’s only about the writer, not about the writing, or the connecting.
None of the phrases that come to mind are exactly right. They’re about resolve. They’re about a push energy. I think the question I am trying to answer is more like the one about nature vs. nurture that we ask in terms of raising a child. (I have this thought, by the way, because I am a brand-new grandmother, and this question of what we are born with and what we develop over time is top of mind.) Does this thing I am trying to define – this characteristic I see in all accomplished writers -- exist in some people and not in others? Can it, like writing, be taught, or is it innate?
I do believe that writing itself can be taught. I have staked my career on it and seen evidence of it over and over again. But what can be taught is craft and habit. You can learn how to write a scene or a chapter, how to write good dialogue, build narrative drive, develop characters, form arguments. You can also be taught to sit at your desk, put in the time, write the number of words you need to write, pitch, and persevere. Books that teach us these skills are some of my most recommended and most beloved – The Creative Habit, Creativity, Inc, Atomic Habits, Wired for Story, 2,000 to 10,000.
This other thing I am referring to is more about connection. It’s more about what Carvan was talking about – a deep desire to connect with yourself (your thoughts and ideas) and then to connect with other people (your future readers.) The questions I think I want to answer are these: Can this desire be taught? Can it be nurtured? Or is it innate—something some people simply have and others don’t?
I feel myself recoiling against the idea that it’s innate. I can’t imagine telling a writer, “Sorry, no, you don’t have this thing, so you have no chance.” I feel myself circling around the belief that, like craft and habit, it can be taught. And further, that it must be taught. That it’s the piece so many writers are missing.
So here is my next attempt to fill in that framework:
It’s not a book about how to write, but a book about how, through writing, we reach across the divide that separates us from our own thoughts and the divide that separates us from each other.
The second I wrote that line above, I stopped. I lifted my hands from the keyboard and thought: Yes!
It’s not complete and it’s not elegant, but those words are the closest I have come to pinning down my idea. Because unless someone understands that connection is what writing is really about, they’ll never get what they want from it, no matter how excellent their grasp of craft, how disciplined their habits, or how many words they write in a day or week.
I feel an argument forming there. I feel that I have something to say. I feel excited! I can start noodling around with the content and structure now to see what emerges.
The Outward Turn
If you are thinking about a new book idea or you have a book idea that isn’t going the way you want it to go, this outward turn could be useful to you, too.
1. Find five or six books that do what you want to do – that share something of what you imagine you want your book to be.
Define what you like about these books. A structure? A style? A voice? A vibe?
Look for patterns among the books. What do they have in common?
Define your idea in terms of what you see and see how it feels and how it fits.
Writers, KJ here. I’m sitting with my new Muse Machine, a deck of 150 open-ended, creative prompt cards designed to spark inspiration across various tasks, from writing to painting from one of my very favorite idea-sparkers and kick-in-the-pantsers, Gretchen Rubin. I don’t like writing prompts (because I hate the idea of intentionally writing stuff I know I won’t use) but these are different. They’re meant to get you thinking in a different way, which means you might get “take a nap” or “can it be bigger on the inside than it is on the outside?” Whatever it is will set your mind spinning. (And they would make a fun gift for the other creatives in your life, too!) Get 10% off until 12/31 with code MUSEPARTNER10. Learn more here.
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