Discovery and Writing Before You’re Ready

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By by by Brendan O’Meara

Hey CNFers, I didn’t have an interview in the can for this week, so I figured I’d try something a little new. Kinda new. Sorta.

This podcast is something of a craft essay. It’s similar to my parting shot … if I only published the parting shot. (Sidebar: This has me thinking, maybe I should bottle up my parting shots and run them on, say, Wednesday, as a mid-week pick me up. If they’re craft based, not if it’s personal. You can email me if you think you’d like that, similar to my flounder (defunct?) Casualty of Words, a writing podcast for people in a hurry. How did it not catch on?)

So, anyway, here are the riffs if you care to read them:

Discovery

Though I’ve been a nonfictionist for close to twenty years, I have a hard time calling myself a “journalist,” even a “reporter.” To me, reporters are the people who FOIA, who know what’s public record and what’s not, cover the cops, wear grease-stained shirts, and have been laid off by not one, but two, Gannett properties.

When I pitch myself to people on my innumerable, anxiety-inducing cold calls, it’s usually as “writer” and never “journalist,” especially in this media climate where saying “journalist” might get you shiner. So to say I’m “reporting” on a book … even that’s a stretch. I feel like a fraud. Reporting is for reporters, the real heroes covering school boards, city councils, and cops.

There’s a way cooler term, used by lawyers, to call reporting: discovery.

You sniff out where you want to go and you discover things along the way. You can even call yourself an explorer, and isn’t that pretty rad.

I’ve “discovered” dozens of potential story beats that I never knew existed even when I wrote my proposal for The Gift. It’s some of the best part of this mess. There’s wonder in the unknown. For instance, nearly to the day, Steve Prefontaine, in 1973, won races on the days Secretariat won the Kentucky Derby, Preakness Stakes, and Belmont Stakes. Words used to describe “Big Red” could very well have been said about Pre, pure heart, giant chest. “He knows he is good. He is one big mass of energy, always ready and eager to run. Yes, I think he knows he is a champion.” That was a quote from the horse’s owner.

How does that thread into the narrative? That’s a topic for another riff, but this has been the joy of discovery. What other beats are out there? This is why you have to, as Robert Caro’s editor told him, turn every page. The equivalent is going on newspapers.com and sifting through hundreds of articles that are repeats, but occasionally you stumble on ONE column from some obscure paper that adds that extra bit of seasoning.

There’s a balance, right? You might have a cool idea, and you want to convince an editor or an agent to buy your idea, but you haven’t done enough discovery to reveal that there is, in fact, more there. But if you do too much, you run the risk of “wasting” a lot of time in the extreme likelihood that a gatekeeper will pass. THAT SAID, you can never go wrong by doing TOO much in discocvery, however you do define too much.

If things go well, the research leads to more discovery, of more nuance, more names, and a greater sense of confidence that you can stick the landing…

Which brings us to Part II.

Write Before You’re Ready

I sent along an agenda of sorts to my wonderfully insightful, patient, and aerobically fit editor. At the end, I said this, and I quote: 

Ideally, I’m giving myself basically another eight months of stone-cold reporting/discovery/research to load the spring, which will give about three months to write roughly 100,000 words. 2024 is a leap year, so, you know, bonus day. It’s 105 days to write 100,000 words. So, 952 words per day. 

I didn’t know it at the time, but I think he nearly passed out when he read that. It was a bad idea. Capital fucking B. And it makes sense, and it’s why I’m abandoning what I thought was a sound plan.

With a tight deadline, if you wait too long, you run the risk of hitting narrative walls with little time to burrow under, scale, or chip your way through. My editor said, “You’re not gonna know where your holes are if you don’t start writing soon enough. There’s always some trial and error and it’s best to do it NOW and not three months before it’s due.”

He also said, by virtue of me doing this podcast and talking to so many writers about their approach, that I have tendency to be always in planning mode. Don’t be overly precious. If you have stuff to say, say it. The more you sit on it, you’re limiting your ability to enjoy the process. The longer you put it off, the bigger it becomes.

This is all brilliant, and why you need someone like that in your corner. 

I was listening to an episode of the at-times unlistenable Better Call Saul insider podcast. I had just finished watching the series before cancelling Netflix and now I’m going back to listen to some of the nitty gritty of the show. And often Vince Gilligan, the show’s co-creator and the creator of Breaking Bad, often gets asked if he knew where certain things were going. Did he know how it was all going to end?

And he always says, no, we had no idea. They had the benefit of a room full of talented, smart people and could hammer out ideas and story beats for weeks before writing an episode, but he said the not knowing – the discovery – led to breakthroughs in the story they never could have conceived of had they boxed themselves into a certain ending or structure. 

I say this that even in nonfiction, and in my case a biography, writing before I’m ready will reveal potholes in the road. I might be writing along and realize, ‘Oh, there’s a gap here.’ Or, ‘Hold on, wouldn’t it be cool if ______ happened here? Can I find that person and then have a real surgical interview, scalpel in hand, and cut right to the bone of what I need in this scene?’

But you’ll never know until you start. I thought that doing 100% of the research, then writing, was going to be the best course of action. But 50% of the research is done, maybe a little less.

It’s time to start building the book, just a little bit.

I don’t have to capital W write the book, but maybe just some of the scenes I feel confident about. Or start really mapping out what the parts and chapters will look like and in so doing, those aforementioned potholes will surface, but at least we’re laying down road then all it’ll take is going back over and patching spaces. ‘Oh, OK, that spot needs more research? Oh, let me go back to that person and dig a little deeper in that little nook.’

Just a 10-15 minute call and by the way say hello to your mothah for me. 


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