When we’re young, the world feels like it’s made up of wrong answers and right answers. If we put the wrong answer on a test, our teacher is able to point to a specific reason—a fact—for why that answer is wrong. If we give the right answer, we get instant gratification with a gold star sticker or a higher grade.
So it’s understandable why we continue trying to figure out the right answer in the rest of our life when we get older. If we can figure out the “right” thing to say in an interview or a business meeting, we might get the job or the raise we want.
If we manage to say the “right” thing to a friend who needs help, we might get them past their difficulty or at least strengthen our friendship. Or if we find the “right” words to make a complaint, we might get a refund on a faulty service or a discount for next time.
We expect there to be “right” answers for many things we strive for, and even when we know that not to be the case, we still wish for it because it seems easier. More straightforward. More of a shortcut than learning the nuances behind all the ifs, thens, and maybes.
Yet we all know real life doesn’t work that way. We can say or do the right thing and still not get the adult equivalent of a gold star sticker.
I know. It sucks, right? *hands out virtual gold star stickers to everyone—we deserve them for effort anyway*
Writing Has No “Right” Answer
Not surprisingly, writing is one of those areas of our life where “one right way” doesn’t apply. There are countless ways to end up from a blank screen to a finished book, and none of those methods are wrong.
That doesn’t stop many of us from wishing for an easier way to learn the process. Wishing for a shortcut. A guarantee.
As Nathan stated in the comments last time:
“I want a one-right-way answer to plot a story … and get it finished. … I would buy into a do-this-and-not- that at this-time-and-not-that guide in a New York second if I thought it would help my desire to finish a novel.”
I get emails and blog comments from people asking which beat sheet they should use, which craft book they should buy, which workshop they should attend. And it would be great if there were a nagic wand to prevent failure, mistakes, and missteps, but that magic wand doesn’t exist. Again, bummer, right?
I understand. It would be so much easier to learn how to write if there was an easy do X, Y, and Z never-fail set of steps that always worked for us and always produced the best book possible.
But that lack of easy instructions isn’t because the universe is trying to spite us. Really. *smile* There are several reasons why there’s no definitive “right” way to write a book.
Reason #1: Our Strengths and Weaknesses Are Unique
The reason I can’t give a definitive answer to those asking is because we’re all different. We have different experiences, different instincts, and different understandings.
Everyone is different as far as what they need (and every story might be different). Some need to plan characters and can work out the plot events by the seat of their pants. Some need a strong outline for the plot and can pants the characters. Or any combination of neither or both with those.
It won’t do any good for me to point to a plot-focused beat sheet and tell someone that it’s perfect for them if they actually need more help getting in touch with their characters. Or vice versa.
Also, because of the way our brains process information, the way one blog post or craft book explains an issue or gives tips for a technique might resonate with us, while another source on the same topic might not. Another writer could think the opposite.
And sometimes when we first come across a concept, it doesn’t quite stick. Maybe we don’t yet have the background knowledge to fully understand or apply it, and once we learn more, we’ll see where those tips fit into the puzzle of good storytelling.
Or maybe we need to hear the same message several times for it to sink in. (Just think of how many times we might need to hear someone’s name to remember it.)
That’s why I tweet links to blog posts even if the subject has been talked about before. The different wordings, the new experiences and knowledge we’ve acquired, and the repeated messages might all help us dig into the concept.
Whatever the cause, there’s a reason why my (or anyone else’s) favorite sources or methods might not work for others. So what can we do?
We can learn about our options. We can experiment. And we can use what works for us this time (and be prepared to try something else next time).
Reason #2: Many Paths Lead to the Same Destination
As we talked about last time, both plotting our stories in advance or writing by the seat of our pants can get us to that finish line of “The End.” In the case of writing, the journey is irrelevant. As far as our readers are concerned, a finished book is the only destination that matters.
Similarly, even if we know how our story is going to end, there are countless plot events we could use to reach that point. The plot can zig or zag and still fulfill the same function to accomplish the same goal.
The obstacle the characters are facing could be a kidnapper with a gun or a car accident causing injuries. Either one would make them vulnerable.
To decide which way to go, we can weigh several factors. We might ask ourselves which option will better:
- reveal a character’s backstory wound and false belief,
- add characterization or feel more in character,
- fit with the characters’ goals,
- reveal or strengthen a character’s motivation,
- advance the story to the next plot point,
- flow from the previous plot point,
- raise the stakes or increase the tension,
- add conflicts and obstacles,
- reveal a theme or foreshadow events,
- fit the story’s mood or tone, or
- create the desired impression or emotions in readers, etc.
Different options will likely accomplish different story goals. Plot event A might advance the plot and add conflict, but plot event B might create a desired emotion in readers by revealing a character’s backstory wound.
So which option is the “right” way to go?
There’s no answer to that question. Either way could work because as long as all the options accomplish something for the story, they’re not wrong.
We might decide that this part of the story needs more of an emotional hit, or we might decide it needs a faster pace. It all depends on the story we want to write.
Just because someone else might make a different choice doesn’t make our decision wrong. These choices are part of what makes our story ours and no one else’s.
For example, the second movie in Veronica Roth’s Divergent series is vastly different from the book, plot-wise, especially in the second half. The movie changes plot events, character actions, settings, obstacles, etc. from the book, but they both end up in the same place—the message that leads to Allegiant, the next book.
In other words, they take radically different paths to reach the same conclusion. They are different stories, and I’m sure some fans have proclaimed one version “better” than the other, but objectively they do both work. (Personally, I prefer the movie plot for being stronger and more coherent, but I can understand why book fans would feel cheated.)
How Can We Keep Uncertainty from Holding Us Back?
My point with that example above is that neither way is wrong. When we’re writing, we might have lots of ideas for what direction the story should take and want an answer for which way would lead to a “better” story.
Honestly, we shouldn’t stress over the choice too much because there’s not necessarily a better or worse or a right or wrong choice. They’re just different.
So our decisions all come down to which choice we think will better accomplish what we want for the story overall or for what we want at that point in the story.
- Does our story hit the major turning points?
- Does it flow with a cause-and-effect chain of events?
- Do we avoid tangents or subplots that don’t have a point?
If we can answer yes, we will eventually reach “The End” for our story. And then we get to obsess about our choices again during revisions and edits. (Just kidding. Sort of…)
The important thing is that with a finished book, we’ll be able to compare the story we have with the story we want. Sometimes we’ll be close and sometimes we won’t. But like the sayings go, “we can’t edit a blank page” and “we won’t know until we try.” *smile*
Also at that point, we can figure out what parts of our process worked for us and what parts didn’t. We can adjust and tweak for next time.
If we finish a story, whatever process we came up with wasn’t wrong. It might be inefficient, or it might have caused too much stress for us. But it wasn’t wrong.
I get it though—the learning curve can be frustrating. A few straightforward answers like “Do this” or “Don’t do that” can feel more like progress.
But trust me, being flexible with our processes so we can adjust when our usual way doesn’t work is much better for our long-term success. And speaking of success… *hands out more gold star stickers*
Have you ever wished for a no-fail set of instructions for how to write a book? Have you seen evidence for how we might have different needs from other writers? Do you struggle with knowing which story choices would be “better”? (Do you have any other tips to share?) Do you have examples from books, movies, or your own work with how our choices aren’t good or bad but just different?Pin It