There’s No Autopilot for Writing

The blank page. So mysterious, the state of wanting to write but having no vision yet, or having a vision but no words prepared. To me it seems writing is a very conscious process. There is no way to assign the task to the subconscious. Even when using cliches, which are overused and don’t make for the most joyful writing, the creative must still have at least a faint idea of an outline in order to assemble tropes and phrases together. Even if they are a pantser, the writer is conscious of each previous paragraph as they create a new one.

While driving, I often go into autopilot, thinking about groceries, my personal life, or a good movie or video game while my body steers the wheel, brakes the brake, presses the gas. My subconscious picks up the slack while I drive. But not so for writing.

Elements of writing can be handled by the subconscious, sure. For example, most sentences I pen on the page are the first drafts of my mind. I can craft a sentence without pondering “should it be a periodic or a loose sentence? Should it be compound, complex, or simple? And what of the word count?” Generally, my mind fills in what sounds right to me, so I don’t need to ask such questions. But I do need to actively think about previous sentences in order to create a new one.

My subconscious is handy for writing sentences quicker—just plunk down the next set of logical words—but I can craft more powerful sentences by reviewing my arsenal of literary devices, or just playing around with the word choice. Plus, it’s fun to consciously assemble each detail. It’s like cooking a meal, step by step.

What’s another way writing requires conscious awareness? Speech. I’ve discovered I can talk to someone while also typing a paragraph that I’m copying from a notebook. But to talk and craft an entirely unique paragraph is impossible—for me, anyway. Let me know if your experience differs! In my case, the choice is either speech or writing. Both require high awareness on my part. So I have to choose where to point my attention.

The blank page cannot be overcome without effort. Or awareness. The blank page beckons us, compels us to grow as writers.

My Dream Creative Writing Club

When I was in Temple University, I was part of a campus lit mag called Hyphen. It published annually. Meetings were weekly, and anyone who attended was considered an editor, able to cast a vote for the acceptance or rejection of a piece. Pieces included art, poems, and short stories, and while editors could read in advance, time was given during each meeting to review a piece before casting a vote. Hyphen had a fun and simple formula, one fruitful for socializing and for keeping the creative juices fresh. The submissions we reviewed enlightened me on new ways to use prose, as did hearing the critiques from my fellow members. And the memes we’d share amongst each other? Priceless.

But even at the time, despite my love for Hyphen, I knew more could be done. For example, we could’ve had guidelines on how many of each submission type we’d accept. Regarding what got put in the magazine, we pretty much went with what got the most votes, and poetry was super popular; little room was left for short stories. We also could’ve had punctuation, formatting, and style guidelines, maybe even a word count, to keep pages visually consistent. At the end of the semester, once all the pieces are selected, editors transition from voting to grammar repair. Having a style guide would give editors more to do, more skills to practice, and also more to put on a resume.

But this is my dream club, right? So anything goes? Cuz I’d LOVE to have workshop sessions, for editors and potential submitters for their poetry, prose, and artwork submissions. Imagine a feedback and critique session, with the chance to submit again later on.

How about having themed issues of a lit mag? That would be cool. Open mic sessions to perform/practice poetry. Drawing sessions. Writing sprints.

Oo! Here’s a good one. Analyzing grammar in excerpts of prose or poetry, picking paragraphs apart for literary devices and syntax tricks like a ravaging grammar wolf🐺

There could even be sessions where we read short stories and analyzed them on the macro scale—plot, character, theme instead of writing style.

A writing club that combined all these things would be the best writing club ever. Who knows. Maybe I’ll be the one to start it…

Quote Me On This

Can we learn anything by writing down quotes? I ask myself this sometimes, when I read a punchy phrase in a crime story, or one that tugs my heart’s strings, or one that’s constructed expertly, each word placed like a brick forming a smooth column. I analyze the quotes sometimes, pick them apart like a vulture and savor each segment, then step back again to marvel at the thing as a whole. But how does this help me grow as a writer? I haven’t found myself mimicking the quote. Nor do I want to. I want the pride of having created something myself.

Perhaps it’s got to be a conscious effort. Perhaps it comes down to rereading those quotes a couple times in a week, and deciding to use its technique, whatever it may be for that particular quote that makes it stand out. Perhaps it comes down to rewriting it a few times, and then doing something similar on my own, and then finally my brain will guide me to making my own powerful quote. And if that method doesn’t work, doesn’t lead to me creating my own power quote, at least I’d learn how to appreciate more the one I already loved.

Quotes are like beautiful paintings you hang up and can look at again and again and always draw inspiration from. Quote me on this 😉