Trusting the flow of creativity

You don’t always have to know the end at the beginning

A couple of weeks ago, I had a really long conversation with my publisher and editor about my new novel. The publication date has been pushed back to April 2025, which means we have a bit more time to play with the story, which is pretty exciting – I love trying to finesse my books as much as possible, but there comes a point (as publication looms) when it’s time to accept the book is in its final form and stop tinkering! On this occasion, we’ve been granted an unexpected gift of extra time, so we were able to analyse a few elements of the book that I might be able to improve. We highlighted a potentially problematic plot dynamic that’s been in the story since the very beginning, and which I’ve clung to tenaciously throughout the last few edits. My publisher suggested gently that it isn’t needed any more, because now that the book has changed and progressed this scenario has turned into outdated scaffolding, and it might be getting in the way of the story. In the end I had little objection – we’ve come far enough down the line, and I’ve had enough feedback, for me to see that it won’t be missed. So out it goes.

I’m at a really interesting point in my writing at the moment – working on these fresh edits for When She Was Gone, while also outlining the book that will follow (The Imposter) – and it’s making me think a lot about the need to remain flexible within the creative process. During the outlining I’m busy trying to pin down the plot and content of the book, but The Imposter will be my tenth story, and I know that quite a few of the things I’m coming up with won’t end up in the final version. This can be disconcerting, because right now I don’t know which are the good ideas and which are the bad ones – and I want to make the writing process as streamlined as possible, because the faster I can write a great novel, the more opportunities I can create for myself. And creating opportunities is really important when you’re trying to make your living as a writer! Therefore, I’m always watching and learning from writer friends, and the one thing I’ve noticed about full-time writers who publish regularly is that they know how to whip up a first draft with minimal procrastination.

No one told me this when I began writing: i.e. just write, and expect change. Your story will grow alongside your experiences, attention and research. Therefore, I would spend too long trying to get the whole thing right first time, rather than just trying to get the first draft or outline down and go from there – not realising that experimentation is a vital part of being a writer. Furthermore, just as in the sciences, some of these experiments are meant to fail in order for me to hone my process and ideas. It’s so freeing to realise we can try things and make lots of mistakes without condemning ourselves!

I remember writing the first few chapters of You Don’t Know Me in second person with the characters talking directly to one another, as I wanted to try something new. I loved it, and presented some sample chapters to my editor full of hope, only to find out she didn’t like it, and she was right, of course. The process taught me a lot about trying to use the second person voice effectively (i.e. it’s really hard!) – and if another story fits that narrative style then I might try again. But I was also glad I’d not gone ahead and written the whole book like that!

Something similar happened during my PhD. My supervisor Christina had a chat with me when I was at least a year in and hadn’t yet defined my research question, reassuring me that the research itself would end up defining the question. And it did. Now, I sometimes have a strange feeling when I’m writing books that I’m excavating information and ideas while looking for a story that already exists: that it’s not my job to create the story, so much as to locate it! Do other writers feel this way? Of course it can’t actually be true, but I think what’s happening is that by exploring the possibilities surrounding an idea, I gradually dig deeper towards the story I really want to tell, until I begin to uncover its core elements. And in my experience I often know when I hit the mark, because I have a visceral or emotional reaction.

There can be many reasons that it becomes difficult to sink into and embrace this flowing, changing part of the creative process. We might get distracted by what other people think of our ideas. We might cling to our initial concepts too rigidly. We might let early reader feedback discourage us and lose confidence in our story. Or we might feel under time pressure, and begin to focus on getting it done quickly rather than getting it right. However, when we realise – or remind ourselves – that creativity is meant to be malleable, we give ourselves the incredible gift of creative freedom. And with this in hand, we can truly begin to dance and play with the twisting, turning process of crafting a great story.