In his book on short story writing, The Lonely Voice, the short story writer Frank O’Connor advises us to allow the story to ‘take over.’ While it’s difficult in some ways for a writer to relinquish this degree of control or even to know quite what O’Connor means, I think it’s advice worth considering.
So what does he mean? I think O’Connor means that we have to put our trust in the story we’re telling, ‘the tale and not the teller,’ as Lawrence said. It implies that our story will have its own internal drive and logic which we should try not to anticipate. Our story make take us somewhere unexpected. It may surprise us and be entirely different from our original idea but it will invariably be better for it.
How do we do this? How do we let the story speak for itself and take on a life of its own? This comes back to things I’ve posted about before but which I think bear repeating and which I’m reminding myself of now I’m back to writing short stories.
The key is not to plan and over anticipate. You may have an idea of where a story will go but try not to impose it while you write. Write freely without over thinking. A pen and notebook are definitely best for this, especially if you can’t resist editing as you go along on the computer because this is NOT the time to edit. Scribble without stopping, edit and iron out the problems later.
How it works for me is that I get a voice, an idea, an image, a few words – maybe all four – in my head and I know there’s a story I want to write. I leave them there. I call them up every now and again but without any further planning. I let them idle around in my head, in my unconscious and then I make a date with myself in a week or so to write the story. I do not let myself anticipate it. I deliberately stop myself from working on what will happen. When the time comes I just go for it and see where I land.
Sometimes the ending writes itself, sometimes I get to a point where there are choices to be made and I mull these over, although invariably I keep coming back to the same ending and then I know it has to be right, even if it wasn’t what I was expecting. Only when I’ve done this do I move on to working with what I have – getting it onto the computer and starting the editing process.
I know that all my best short stories have been written like this: relinquishing conscious control. I think it’s our best chance of writing a story that makes the hair on the reader’s arms stand on end.
‘Australian Aborigines say that the big stories—the stories worth telling and retelling, the ones in which you may find the meaning of your life—are forever stalking the right teller, sniffing and tracking like predators hunting their prey in the bush.’ —Robert Moss, Dreamgates
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