When I start a book, I have but the vaguest of an outline. I can speak in generalities about the plot and overarching themes. I know the broad strokes. I know the tone I want to set. I see the colors of the book insofar as they express its mood. I know it on a deeply personal level before I even know what it will become.

Anyone who read the afterword of my book knows that I was quite a ways into writing Latchkey Lost before I even knew it was about me. That’s how separated I am from the specificity of where my writing will take me. 

The good: I think that infuses my writing with an authentic sense of emotional depth. My intimate connection with my work shines through in a cozy literary embrace. It doesn’t feel superficial. In fact, if anything it feels like I may linger too long in the areas that tingle my hopeless romanticism.  

The bad: It complicates the actual writing process quite a bit. When you aren’t working from a formal outline, it becomes an incessant evasion of plot landmines and dark corners of continuity inconsistencies and inescapable logic traps. 

I have come across quite a few of these dark corners recently, and it made me think hard about whether I apply a consistent set of principles when I encounter these situations (the teachable moments), or, like I often do, perhaps I just wing it (don’t be like me).

Here’s what I realized… Much like in life, I operate with deeply felt, but feverishly concealed emotions, and rarely with a plan. When I’m faced with those vacant walls, the ones that torment me and tell me they’ve finally won, I do one of two things… I punch through its pliable drywall and just force the mythical down my readers throats. 

Here, take this supernatural, unexplainable element, and love it

Or…

I back up, erase the existence of the past 20 minutes of plot, and repave their journey. I’m not afraid to crumple up my writing and throw it away. I have yet to write a single indispensable series of words. Maybe that day will come, and maybe I won’t be able to dispose of what I have just written, but if that ever happens I’ll just have to figure out what that third options is… take what I love, and navigate the treacherous terrain to make those words make contextual sense. 

Until then, I’ll keep using force or courage to repair mistakes.