Why do We Prewrite?
Timmy, my friend, why do we embark on the mysterious journey of prewriting? Well, the answer lies in the very fabric of our human nature. We need something tangible, something to anchor our wandering minds, preventing them from freezing in the icy grip of indecision and doubt. Without it, we’d be like a deer caught in the headlights of the creative process.
Greetings, Timmy! Today, we dive into the intriguing realm of prewriting and explore why it holds such paramount importance. Brace yourself; we’re about to unravel the psychological intricacies of writing. Because, you see, like everything in the craft, it all depends on the one wielding the pen. Confused? Don’t worry; clarity awaits.
The term “prewriting” hovers in the nebulous space of creative preparation. It encompasses everything that unfolds before we actually start jotting down words. We’re talking research, world-building, outlining, and, of course, the delightful dance of self-doubt and anxiety. Yes, the usual and entirely normal writerly stuff. But, amidst this chaotic mix, we must impose some semblance of order, some arbitrary boundaries. If not, any eccentric act, like devouring a cookie in the bathtub at 3 AM in the darkness of solitude, might be considered prewriting. Who knows? May be it is, We writers are a peculiar bunch.
Now, about these concrete boundaries, Timmy. Let’s loosely define prewriting as “the moment we sit down to prepare for writing.” It’s still a bit nebulous, but fear not; we’ll dissect and clarify each aspect as we journey together. The pressing question that hangs in the air: Why? Why do we subject ourselves to this intense act of preparation before even putting pen to paper? Let’s unravel the mystery together.
The Elusive Muse and the Blue-Collar Approach
Ah, the muse—a mythical being floating on a cloud of silk and cotton, bestowing inspiration with a whimsical smile. It’s a charming image, isn’t it? But, Timmy, let me burst that bubble; the muse rarely works that way. Inspiration, more often than not, is the product of hard, dedicated work rather than a celestial visitation. It’s like your brain suddenly exclaims, “Eureka! These ideas fit together!” It’s the culmination of your knowledge pouring into a project that you may not have even realized existed. The catch? It’s your job to bring that revelation to life. However, that’s only half the story.
Returning to the realm of prewriting, the popular image of the muse is quite misleading. This notion originated from the bohemians of yore, an old cliché born in times when only the affluent or the decadent could afford literary pursuits.
As I’ve emphasized before, writing demands a blue-collar approach—putting in the hard work. Consider this analogy: when someone builds a house, do they immediately start constructing it? No, they don’t. Well, they could, but the risk of failures and mishaps becomes too great. Before laying the foundations, they need a design, a budget, estimates (because, let’s face it, reality always differs from the budget), and a schedule, among other things. Similarly, in writing, before you even pen a single word (okay, maybe that’s a slight exaggeration, but we’ll circle back to it another time), you must grasp your theme, understand your characters, outline your basic structure, figure out the conflicts (both overarching and personal), have a sense of your story’s conclusion, know your genre (and consequently, your audience), and more. The list is long, but it’s all part of the game.
Timmy, my fellow, the journey of writing is no easy feat. Penning even a modest-sized book is a challenging endeavor, and you have no right to make it harder on yourself. That’s precisely why we embark on the intricate process of prewriting—doing the groundwork, preparing the terrain for our creative endeavors. Without establishing a solid foundation beforehand, you risk stumbling into frustration and the temptation to abandon your work. In the worst-case scenario, you might finish something that commits every writing sin in the book, with luck granting you the title of “enjoyable bad,” or, in less the worst case scenario, ensuring that your work is forgotten.
Regardless of your identity—Outliner, Pantser, or somewhere in between—having a solid footing is a requisite. It provides a sense of security, albeit false and fleeting, to combat the existential terror induced by the blank page. Dear Timmy, no matter how many aspiring writers succumb to their insecurities and anxieties, the ultimate adversary remains the terror of nothingness that greets us each time we confront the blank canvas. This, my friend, is why we prewrite. It grants us a semblance of an idea regarding the path ahead. Even when we meticulously plan every detail, the narrative is destined to evolve and unravel. Why, you ask? For our characters—the entities that exist merely as concepts on a sheet of paper, yet seem to possess minds of their own. As we write, these concepts guide our hands, for better or worse. And trust me, it tends to veer toward the worse if you haven’t fortified yourself with a sturdy hand and completed your prewriting homework.
Why do we prewrite? Because we must. It’s a necessity, a gathering of ideas, a mental preparation that is indispensable.
Until next time
