If you've ever lived anywhere that freezes over, like New England or Minnesota or Siberia, you've probably had this experience (and if you've only ever been in warm places, lucky you.) Sitting behind the wheel, needing to get somewhere, but the windows are iced over. The heater is on full blast, the dashboard light shows the rear defroster is active, but for the moment you're going nowhere. You're keenly aware of the slowly warming rush of air from the vents, the cold seat on which you sit wrapped in layers, and you really start to notice how much the car needs a good cleaning. There's a gum wrapper on the floor, an empty plastic bottle in a cup holder, and a bit of dust gathering in every nook and cranny of the dashboard. But before long, a small piece of the windshield becomes translucent and you start to see the outside world. You notice the garage door first, not too exciting except that the fact you can see it means you're almost ready to hit the road; things are about to start happening. The clear spot widens and you can see more of your house. The dog is watching you from the front window, no doubt wishing he could come along for the ride even as you wish you could go back inside with him where it's warm. A single bird flies by, and you wonder how long it will be until spring fills the air with them. Neighbors emerge from their houses to get their mail or newspaper or start defrosting their own vehicles. Little by little, you can see more of the world around you, and as that happens you pay less and less attention to the gum wrapper and the plastic bottle and the dust. When enough of the windows are clear, you drop the car into gear and you're off on the day's adventure, your mind on the road and the traffic, all thoughts of cleaning forgotten.
Beginning to write is like that. Not just the start of a new project, but the start of each new session. I often write at night, after the rest of the house is asleep. The dog, laid out on the floor near my wife's side of the bed, snores and occasionally taps the footboard with his restless legs as he chases something in his dreams. The furnace or the air conditioner (depending on the season) kicks on and blows for a bit and shuts off. Somewhere in the distance a truck passes or a siren wails, and in front of me is a blank white screen, the digital equivalent of an empty page, featureless as a frozen windshield. But then a window slowly starts to open and in my mind I can see and hear and smell ... someplace else. If I'm patient, the window widens and bit by bit I can see a story unfold, and when I do, I write it down. I can still look around and see the room I'm writing in, of course, just as I can look around the inside of the car while I'm driving, but most of my attention is on the other side of the window, until it fogs over again and I'm done for the day.
I don't start with an outline. Over the years I've read a lot of articles about the process of writing, and I've paid a lot of attention to how other writers (especially the successful ones) go about it. I'm always curious about how they decorate their writing space, what music they listen to, whether they prefer pen and paper to computers, whether they research first or just wing it. What I've learned is that their processes are theirs. There is no right way, and the only wrong way to be a writer is to not write anything. Long story short, if anyone wants my advice about beginnings, it is simply this: begin today. If you want to be a writer, write something. If you're the kind of writer who needs an outline, start with that. If you're the kind who starts with the ending and works backward, then do that. If you don't know what kind you are yet, try ... everything. Trust that you will figure out what works for you, and what doesn't, along the way. But get started, because you can't know until you try.
I prefer a quiet setting. When I listen to music, it's usually instrumental only, at a fairly low volume. Lyrics get in the way; it can be hard to find the words to describe what I'm seeing through that window to another world when someone else's words are flowing into my ears. Sometimes I'll write longhand but mostly I prefer the laptop because I can type faster than I can write, and I can (and occasionally will) type with my eyes closed. But the rules aren't hard and fast. Sometimes I'll write during the day, and other nights I'll put on my headphones and crank up the tunes while banging out a page or two. Even for this one writer, there's not one right way.
So what do I start with? Whatever comes first. If the fog clears and the action has already started, I try to follow along. If not then I'll concentrate on the characters (who's here? why? what are they waiting for?) or the setting (where are we? what's the weather like? how do I feel about being in this particular place at this particular time?) I go into it knowing -- and more importantly, not caring -- that some of the words I put down at the very start are going to be thrown away later, replaced by something better. I get started with whatever I see first, but that isn't always the best starting point, if that makes sense. Like I said, my advice on beginnings is to just begin. See where it goes, and fix it later. Let the window clear a bit, watch what unfolds on the other side, write it down. That's what works for me. Use the comments below to let me know what works for you. As I said, I'm always curious.
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