The Shape of Story

by Debbie Bateman

photo by Anna Pou from Pexels

Welcome all Ideas

Sometimes we learn our most valuable skills in times of crisis. Eight years ago, we were arranging the practicalities after our son’s sudden death. We’d gathered as a family to make decisions and take care of the details associated with having a Celebration of Life. We decided to have an open mic so friends and family could speak. I needed to compose a tribute and there was precious little time to do it.

Never have I cared more about my choice of words. In a kinder world, I’d have had a day, or at least three or four uninterrupted hours, but that was not possible. So, I did a radical thing. While we were driving around the city and taking care of details, as memories of our son came to mind, I’d grab any scrap of paper I could find and I’d write them down. After three days, I had a collection of scrawls written on the backs of receipts, small slips of paper torn from the hotel notepad, the unused space on envelopes, and so on.

A couple of days before the ceremony, while the rest of the family went to pick up take-out, I stayed in the hotel room and used the hour to shape the random thoughts I’d been gathering on scraps of paper into what I would say at our son’s Celebration of Life. While not polished, the tribute was meaningful, perhaps even more honest for its lack of preparation time. Most times when I write something, there’s a nagging sense of incompleteness. Not so that day.

Other Useful Strategies

It seems to me that the practice of writing is like that. We’re called upon to draw from what can feel like opposite approaches and to not labour so hard over details that we lose authenticity. As if a writer has a split personality, one part unrestrained play and the other objective analysis, we’re called upon to switch between these approaches until a meaningful story emerges.

For a long time, I mistook nitpicking over individual words and sentences for substantive editing of my own work. But the task of managing the whole is an entirely different undertaking and the wide view can be overwhelming. There is so much to consider and the great stretches of seeming to be doing nothing can feel discouraging.

In addition to welcoming all ideas, the following strategies have helped me outlast the discomfort and engage in bold reimagining of my work in-progress.

Approach Softly

It does not serve me to attempt wider thinking at my desk in front of a computer. I’ve discovered I can go deeper if I step out of my office and settle into a comfy chair with a cup of tea and a notepad (not the electronic kind—actual paper).

In such a position, it’s okay to now and then gaze out the window, giving my eyes something to do while my mind gets busy. In thinking mode, we slow down and be still. The best ideas arrive after intervals of seeming silence. We might as well do this in comfort.

Seek Patterns

I like to begin by looking for sticking points—anything in the narrative that causes a person to wonder or feel. I try to encapsulate the nature of the attraction in as few words as possible. I’ll jot down enigmatic catch phrases and sentence fragments on foolscap, then look for patterns. How do the sticking points relate? Arrows and slashed circles help me visualize. Some ideas contradict or complicate what came earlier, which is what the slashed circles are for. Sometimes I’ll draw a bullseye, sometimes a cloud—all in good fun.

Generally, I do this several times, happily balling up the previous piece of paper once I’ve finished its next iteration. I like starting over as you may remember from my previous blog on My Strange Writing Habit. Plus, with each reflection on the sticking points, I gain fresh ideas. Often, I see what is missing, or at least the sticking points that are somehow not connected to others.

Find the Questions (Don’t Worry the Answers)

I’ve come to savour a good question. The ones that seem unanswerable are especially productive. Hold one of those in your mind for long enough and something powerfully transformative is likely to happen. And while I’m waiting, I add more questions.

The list can be several pages long. Question after question after question—all that I try to do is write them down. The longer the list, the more the possibilities. Then I filter through the questions, looking for the ones that have the most charge, and I put those questions on a post-it note by where I write.

I am amazed by this, but the simple act of asking helps bring the answers closer. It works every time. Daring to hold a question without a clear answer may be what gives real meaning to narrative. I wonder.

Repeat as Needed

Finally, I’d like to emphasize that this process is iterative. Think of it as a wheel, not a line. We switch from unrestrained play to objective analysis over and over again. Each time, the wheel turns.

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