by Debbie Bateman
Photo by evgenyatamenko on iStock. Public domain.
A Useful Revision Technique
It started innocently enough as a revision technique I learned from Stella Leventoyannis Harvey when I was in The Writer’s Studio program. She suggested we retype our manuscript really fast without thinking too much. What an idea! I love speed. That sense of blasting down a hill on my old-school bicycle when I was a child, travelling rough on country roads, hair flying, a breeze washing my face, feet braced ready to brake. Who would not enjoy that freedom?
But, there is more to it than fun. In typing faster, I allowed the narrative to streamline. As if the creative spirit had always known what to do, all that was needed was for me to release control and let be. As I retyped what I’d previously written, parts that were not necessary slipped away without notice. Better yet, parts that had been missing showed up, seemingly without effort.
Letting Go and Travelling Light
As I was revising Your Body Was Made for This for publication, I used this technique almost every day. The only times I didn’t were on those unavoidable but less frequent days when I needed to step aside and think because. . . yes, this too is necessary. I’ll talk more about that in my next blog. Until then, let’s return to the exhilaration of letting go and travelling light. When I typed fast, there was no time for doubting myself. Many things simply made more sense when I allowed them to form at their own speed in their own time.
Plus, when I let the words flow, sentences became more than messages. When we read, it’s not only to grasp ideas. We want also to feel. And when I typed without restraint, sentences turned into beats and chimes and gongs and swirling bass-clarinet crescendos. They became music, filled with emotional meanings that register in our guts. It simply felt right.
Useful for More than Revision
I was surprised after the book was done and I started something new to discover that I continued typing fast even without a clear narrative. Without a doubt, this carries more risk. I’ve been tossed from the bike countless times, hitting the mud embarrassed and hurt. And still, I would not do it any other way.
Most mornings these days, I write a page or a little more in the few hours I have before starting work. I spend the time typing fast. I fall off the bike constantly. Then I go back to the top of the hill and try again.
Russian Doll and So On
I wonder if you’ve seen that brilliant television series starring the red-headed trouble-maker Natasha Lyonne? It completely changed how I approach finding narrative. In each episode of the Russian Doll, the main character Nadia keeps turning 36 years old, celebrating her birthday, going to the bathroom and later dying. Certain parts of the narrative are the same in each episode. The rest of it changes.
With each reiteration of the same basic set-up, we find new twists and character flaws, bits of profundity and absurdity, joy. When I first began watching this series, I laughed at its audacity. Refusing to follow a single narrative? Imagine!
Then I thought about it. What is a video game? What is Dungeons and Dragons? What are the rituals that hold our society together like birthdays and festive seasons? We replay a similar set-up with differing outcomes.
Playing with Dolls
As a child, when I was not making forts and climbing trees with my boy cousins, I liked playing dolls. For weeks on end, I’d go over a romantic attachment between clueless Ken and the overly busty Barbie. (I was young then and didn’t realize the stereotypes.) They’d fall in love, get married and have babies one day. The next, she’d slap his face and tell him to get lost. Even when I wasn’t playing with the dolls, I’d be stringing out different stories.
So now, this is how I do my first drafts. I’ll type fast until I am not sure what comes next. Then I’ll open a new file and start over using the same process. Each time I get a little farther. Sometimes towards the end of my allotted time, I’ll splice together a few of the attempts. Other times, I’ll pull out one or two interesting threads and copy them into the file I’ll start with the next day.
This strange process serves me well. I sidestep anxiety and I am more productive. My output has grown fourfold. Those benefits alone would be worth the change in habit, but there’s a bonus—I have fun.
What’s your creative process for first drafts? Leave a comment because I’d love to know. Also, if you enjoyed this blog, sign up. It’s free.
Debbie Bateman 