My writing process bears similarities to making bread. I mix all the elements together, then let the writing rest for a few hours, maybe even a day or more. I return and knead it some. If it’s ready to “bake,” I get it ready for publication. If it isn’t, I give it more time to rest. I return again, but this time, I pound it into submission. Sometimes, it’s the only way to get the writing to do what it’s supposed to do.
Ingredients
If I were to make bread the same way I write, the bread would be different every time. I wouldn’t use measuring cups; I’d eyeball everything. I’d add different spices or maybe fruit pieces. It would depend on what kind of bread I was trying to make.
That’s the way I approach writing, at least when the writing comes easy. The words flow, and I’m not concerned with how they appear or sound. The internal editor is silent as the words come forth.
That isn’t to say I come to the writing unprepared. All the “ingredients” are more or less gathered together. They’ve been swimming around my brain and connecting with each other. There might be a surprise addition, but it’s like deciding to add a pinch of nutmeg to the bread dough at the last minute. It’s a tangent that can make or break the work at hand. Fortunately, it’s something I can delete from the screen—unlike the nutmeg, which sometimes proves not to be such a great idea.
The Rest
The rest is critical in baking and writing. Without it, the bread doesn’t rise, and neither does the writing. They both deflate or turn into dwarf bread. (It’s a running joke in Discworld. Trust me, it’s inedible, although highly treasured by said dwarves.)
The rest also gives me distance. When I come back to the work—or even the bread—it’s with a discerning eye. I can see the areas that still need some work. I see others are working perfectly. They are in harmony, a beautiful concert of saffron, cardamom, and pistachios.
Kneading
The rest also gets me ready to knead. It will be hard work; I know I will have to beat the writing into submission. Annie Dillard doesn’t compare the work to a caged lion for nothing. Writing, like bread, has to be tamed.
Uncontrolled, it does its own thing. The bread was left to prove too long, and even the most undiscerning of palates can tell. The writing took over, which isn’t necessarily a bad thing in the sense of getting out of my own way, but it’s entirely harmful when the end result in incoherence. Writing is meant to communicate as bread is meant to delight the tongue and stomach.
Now, Bake
After the writing has gone however many rounds of rests and kneads it needs, I “bake” it. I add links and work on search engine optimization. I think about possible visuals and formatting. Once all those pieces are in place, it’s ready to be published, i.e., taken out of the metaphorical oven, and served to the audience.
Writing is like making bread. The ingredients are thrown together to form dough, after which it’s proved and kneaded. After that, it’s baked and presented to the world.
How can I help you make “bread”? Let’s set up a time to chat.
Image: jeffreyw (Creative Commons)