The Elephant Technique or How Not To Break Your Momentum During NaNoWriMo And Beyond
So there’s this thing, National Novel Writing Month, where a person writes a 50,000 word novel in 30 days. These people are referred to as crazy. I am one of them.
And there’s this guy, Chris Baty. Baty helped make NaNoWriMo a thing. He even wrote a book about it. A book about writing a book. It’s meta. In this book he gave advice on just how to write a book in 30 days. Lots and lots of advice. Because writing is hard.
Really hard.
Really, REALLY hard.
But this guy, Baty? He’s pretty smart about it. One of the things he talks about is to know your weakness as a writer. I have a bunch, but the main one is getting distracted by internetz.
See, the thing is, I try. I really do. I try to research all the things and stuff I need to research before I write, but sometimes I’ll be going on my merry way and BOOM I forgot what I named that hospital. Or BOOM I don’t know what the parts to a horse’s saddle is. So I go to Google and Google tells me. But it never stops there. I always go, “While I’m here, I might as well check [insert your time-wasting social media site of choice].” And then, BOOM - an hour has passed and I haven’t touched what I was writing.
This is no good. I need to focus and not break my momentum while I’m writing. Stopping to open a browser and searching on Google breaks my momentum. So what do I do? Research even more? As much as I’d like to think I can predict everything that happens in my plot, some things I just can’t foresee. And that’s a good thing! No, it’s great! That’s one of the best things about writing, when I’m surprised when X, Y, or Z happens.
Instead of extensive, mind-numbing research, I do this. Whenever I find myself stalling to think of a name or an adjective or literally anything else, I write elephant instead. Elephant. And then go on my merry way.
It felt really stupid when I started. The worse is when I read what I’ve written and forgot that I slapped on an elephant in the middle of an intense scene.
But it works!
I promise, I wouldn’t do it if it didn’t.
And when I edit, all I do is find each “elephant” with the search option of whatever word-processor I’m using and insert it’s rightful word - the well-researched-after-I’ve-written-the-book word. I’ve told a few people about my Elephant Technique, and I knew a few people who use different words: cantaloupe, poodle, febreze. It all works.
BOOM, distraction gone. Please enjoy BMO dancing as you go forth and write all the things.
Let's talk about it being about a week later, in the warehouse. There's a game on. I'm cheering against Nya-- it's the principle of the matter-- but she has far more sports team pride than any of us could ever have guessed. Her normally diminuitive pantsuit is covered with an orange and black Tigers jersey, scarf, hat, sunglasses, and decorative foam finger. She has a cheap beer in her hand. Elaine is there. This is the only kind of time she will ever be allowed in the warehouse, Hebdomidaire has made this very clear. Hebdomidaire has also made it clear that watching college football is stupid, and Mona agrees with her. They're trying to set up a ping pong table in the middle of the room, and their curses are being drowned out by the roar of the commentary and the crowd. Sefa has made popcorn, and has brought more things than could possibly be put on popcorn to try out, because, in his words, there has to be something that will make the popcorn palatable to my insectoid jaws. There's paprika, bakers yeast, salt, butter, hot sauce, barbequeue sauce, peanut butter, toffee, chocolate, and pepper. He's sure we can find something good.
Hebdomidaire comes over to grab something for Mona out of the cooler, and brushed by Elaine. Elaine reaches up with one hand and kisses her.
Elaine kissed Weekly hard. Weekly kinda fell into it. I looked away anywhere else, both feeling utterly embarrassed at seeing my sister make out with someone and also like I was intruding on something important.
When it's over they both look flushed and embarrassed. Sefa flicks popcorn at them, "Get a room. Come on now." I catch Nya's eye, and she shrugs, "At least someone's doing it."
Sefa flicks popcorn at me.
Maybe it's going to be okay after all.
(HW: Really? That’s what you’re going to close out on? A food fight? Nothing’s resolved, nothing is sure, and you talked about me and your sister making out which is super weird by the way.
EG: IT’s weird for me too, you know. And it’s a good ending. Makes the people happy. Nothing is resolved and nothing is okay, but maybe it can be. Maybe it can be for you, as well.
HW: We still don’t know who sent those notes or what that vision in the market was about.
EG: That doesn’t matter. That can happen later. For now, maybe it’s all going to be okay.)
Maybe somewhere else I’m kissing Pat and Eddy and we get to have a storybook ending. But maybe right now it’s also okay to be with other people who may or may not be happy.
including lists in your story will calm your readers, reminding them of their weekly shop or pros and cons lists they made while deciding which flavour muffin to buy at starbucks
The great Ursula K. Le Guin, who was just awarded the National Book Foundation’s 2014 Medal for Distinguished Contribution to American Letters, on writing and the secret of success in any craft – spectacular read.
Le Guin adds a necessary caveat to the excerpt highlighted above:
I beg you please to attend carefully now to what I am not saying. I am not saying that you should think about your audience when you write. I am not saying that the writing writer should have in mind, “Who will read this? Who will buy it? Who am I aiming this at?” — as if it were a gun. No. … Once you start writing, it is fatal to think about anything but the writing. True work is done for the sake of doing it. What is to be done with it afterwards is another matter, another job.
“You’re a giant talking bug and you think this is weird?”
“No no no no no no no you are not getting away with the whole “Weird science is real so you shouldn’t be weirded out by magic” excuse, it’s stupid and I’m not having it; aka what the hell.”
“Told you he’d be freaked out,” Nya mumbled, sleepily.
I huffed, “Freaked out is one thing; totally fricking confused is another. These are fairies operating an illegal magic selling ring out of a set of dumpsters in a warehouse in my city; I am allowed to be a bit--"
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