Shannon Dittemore is the author of the Angel Eyes novels. She has an overactive imagination and a passion for truth. Her lifelong journey to combine the two is responsible for a stint at Portland Bible College, performances with local theater companies, and an affinity for mentoring teen writers. Since 2013, Shannon has taught mentoring tracks at a local school where she provides junior high and high school students with an introduction to writing and the publishing industry. For more about Shan, check out her website, Facebook, Twitter, Instagram and Pinterest.
As a routine part of my writing process I give myself days at a time to do nothing but think. Well, not nothing. I’m usually scrubbing the bathroom, or preparing a Sunday school lesson, driving my kids around town, or putting together a conference talk. Sometimes I’m actually out in nature, hiking a mountain or splashing in the ocean. Those are the glorious days, but the truth is, so long as I make it a priority to come back to my manuscript sooner rather than later, these thinking days are incredibly valuable and, in truth, necessary.
If you’ve been following my writing process on Fridays, you’ll know that at this point I’ve committed to a story idea and I’ve begun the process of discovery writing the opening scenes. I have the beginnings of a protagonist and the problem she’s working to solve. A cast of characters is starting to take shape around her and my storyworld is blurry but is slowly coming into focus.
I’ve noticed that I’ve started to contradict myself here and there within the manuscript. Some days my hero has two brothers and some days she has three. Some days her father has a beard and some days he’s clean shaven. During my first writing session, I set the story in the springtime, but I’ve since decided that autumn makes way more sense. I have the frame work of a religious system in place and I’m trying to decide if I want to include magic or not.
What I need to do now is stop and give the story time to become more than just an idea. I need to walk away from the business of writing and let the story settle into place in my gut.
Ever cooked a tri-tip? You pull it off the grill and it smells amazing, but if you cut into it right away, the juices inside the meat spill out and you’re left with a dry hunk of cow. What’s needed is not more time on the grill or even another dose of marinade. What the meat needs is time. If you leave the tri-tip alone for just ten minutes, the juices will redistribute and every slice will be full of juicy yumminess.
That’s what I’m trying to do here. I’ve done a little cooking and now I need to let my story rest. To let it breathe. To let all the juicy ideas I have racing through my head redistribute. I need them to settle into place.
When a break like this is successful, I come back to the page excited because I have clarity. The influx of first thoughts that pummeled me during my early writing sessions have begun to settle into place.
I know how many brothers my hero needs and her father’s appearance has started to solidify in my head. I’m more certain than ever that I should start my story in the autumn. Like magic, those springtime images of budding flowers and new grasses suddenly become mulch underfoot with orange and gold leaves blustering about on a warm fall breeze.
Time away from the page allows the warring images inside my own self to adjust organically. As I settle in to write again, I’ll go back through my first scenes and I’ll tailor the words on the page to match the images I now have in my head. I’ll likely come across other things that need to be stewed on, but since I’m back from my thinking break and ready to move forward, I’ll just highlight those sections and push on. Remember, this is a first draft. I don’t need to figure EVERYTHING out now. Just enough to keep me writing.
Do you routinely take timeouts during your writing process? What does that look like for you? Is it challenging when you come back to the page or do you find a renewed sense of energy?