My System Analyst Subprocessors, aka My Literal Writing Process (and why it took 6 weeks to get here)
Obligatory "my opinions are my own and not intended to represent the whole of autistics, software testers, or background shell scripts" caveat.
My ability to turn a small observation into a complete philosophical framework is due to my brain's subconscious background processes running Systems_Analyst.bash and frequently pushing patches to Main after testing in Production. For my software geeks out there, it looks something like this:
[CLASSIFICATION: PROCESS LOG / HUMAN DEBUG TRACE]
// Systems_Analyst.bash //
STATUS: RUNNING
UPTIME: 40 YEARS
LAST RESTART: UNKNOWN
// Completed Jobs //
✓ Demisexuality Analysis
✓ Author Impostor Syndrome Evaluation
✓ Generational Cycle Interrupt
✓ PTA Process Breakdown
// Active Processes //
→ SYSTEM DESCRIPTION
→ OUTPUT EXAMPLE
→ INTEGRATION LAYER
// Background Daemons //
→ Crush Experience Mapping
→ Writing Process Reverse Engineering
→ Why Dave Filoni Is The Best Fandom Lorekeeper
→ Untitled Essay About Something Ghoulboss Hasn't Realized Yet
[SYSTEM DESCRIPTION]
What is my actual writing process? The answer, as it is with many things neurodivergent, is: follow the dopamine. My best writing flow states have come from leaning into where the dopamine was leading me. If you’re experiencing a level of friction with a given scene or project, don’t fight your brain, let the project breathe for a little bit. Follow the dopamine somewhere else. This trilogy has been exciting and filled with dopamine for me partly because of the way I’ve structured the 2nd and 3rd books (each has an A-story and B-story, so basically 4 stories in 2!). When I still have friction, I work on these essays. When I still meet friction that means: don’t write. The background processes are working, let them do their thing, don’t force them to the foreground.
“Don’t write” is counter-intuitive writing advice, I realize, however I think it’s important–especially for neurodivergent writers. We spend so much of our time fighting our brains on various things (like brushing teeth consistently! #guilty), we shouldn’t have to fight our brains over creative expression. The other counter-intuitive piece of advice I needed to hear was, “you have permission not to be unique.” I was guilty of spending a lot of time worrying about whether my works were unique “enough” to stand out. The irony is the unique part was never the work, it was me. At work, I like to say “I’m unique, not special” which is shorthand for “my approach to a problem might be different, but I know I’m not the only person with this problem.” For writing, it’s our voices that are unique, our stories aren’t special.
Is this difficult to predict and produce consistent content with unpredictable levels of dopamine and topic focus? You bet your ass. My way around this was to build up a backlog before pushing anything out. SPN Book 1 was DONE before I started pushing chapters weekly. I had 4 essays “in the can” (a film expression) before I had a posting schedule. This has worked for me so far because that gives me a month (or 3 in the case of book 1) of breathing room before an actual hard-ish deadline. My brain paradoxically requires deadlines in order to actually complete anything but if the deadline is TOO EARLY I will burn myself out and/or shut down completely and ghost the entire project.
I’ve also established a couple different writing routines, depending on what mood I’m in. Sometimes I just want to type out quick dialogue on my phone, ok! Sometimes I want to sit on my desk and use my favorite (90’s tech inspired) clacky keyboard, also fine! Sometimes I want to write but also be lying completely horizontally, THIS IS GAME CHANGING LET ME TELL YOU. Many, many thanks to the Booktok girlies for this idea. I have an old Amazon Fire tablet on a stand above my bed and a bluetooth keyboard instead of a page-turning clicker. Chef’s kiss of a writing setup. I can easily free up system resources by removing sitting_up_straight.bash and proper_typing_posture.py from the job list.
Sometimes I write in public on one of my writer decks (I say that like I have multiple, I have one and the other is crowd-funded but I’m hoping to have it by the time this is published by the end of the year). I have an Alphasmart Neo that I got off eBay (it only types and saves text files) and I love taking it out in public and putting a “writing ambiance” or “writing sprints” video on my phone for background noise (link to current favorite). Writing sprints help me a lot in that they create almost a faux flow state. I think “it’s ok to write literally anything for the next fifteen minutes, then I get a break.” A lot of times I wind up writing through the breaks to keep the scene going!
[OUTPUT EXAMPLE]
In terms of the nitty-gritty, one of the things that removes friction for me is using a script-ish format for dialogue only of a scene until I have the spoons to fully write out the blocking and prose. For example, if a scene hits me out of nowhere, I’ll write something on my phone like this:
[low bandwidth output]
Kate: I was here three months ago.
Dean: While I was possessed?
Kate: But I didn’t know it then, and neither did Sam. You were acting normal, nothing seemed off.
Dean, smirking: Sorry I missed seeing you
Kate: That’s the thing,you didn’t miss me, at least, your body didn’t.
Dean, angrily: Did that son of a bitch lay a hand—my hand—on you?
Kate: No, nothing like that, Dean.
Kate puts pregnancy test on the table.
Dean: Is that…?
Kate nods.
Dean: You’re pregnant? Who–who’s the father?
Kate: You. At least, biologically, you.
Dean: That asshole used me…for sex?
Sam, shrugging: We don’t know what his intentions were. But, based on the timeline, the last time Kate was here, you were possessed.
Then, when the dopamine is ready, I’ll polish it into something like this:
[higher bandwidth polish]
“I was here three months ago.”
“While I was possessed?”
I nodded, “But I didn’t know it then, and neither did Sam. You were acting normal, nothing seemed off.”
“Sorry I missed seeing you,” Dean smirked, trying to ease the tension.
“That’s the thing,” I said, “You didn’t miss me, at least, your body didn’t.”
“Did that son of a bitch lay a hand—my hand—on you?” His voice rose as he started to get to his feet. I put my hands on his arms and stopped him.
“No, nothing like that. Dean,”
I took a deep breath and reached into the pocket of my jeans, pulled out the pregnancy test, and put it on the table in front of Dean.
“Is that…?” He asked, picking it up and looking at the window.
The two red lines. Two little lines that changed everything in three minutes. His forehead wrinkled.
“You’re pregnant? Who–who’s the father?”
Dean looked up at me and I might be mistaken but I thought I detected pain in his tone and his eyes. I swallowed a lump that had been forming in my throat.
“You. At least, biologically, you.” I said.
“That asshole used me…for sex?”
Sam shrugged.
“We don’t know what his intentions were,” He looked at me. “But, based on the timeline, the last time Kate was here, you were possessed.”
[INTEGRATION LAYER]
Jump cut to music and songwriting!
It’ll tie back in, bear with me.
I used to wonder how the heck song writers could generate lyrics and melody, how composers knew what notes sounded good together. Because my brain just cannot generate anything close to that. I’m slowly starting to realize: our brains’ native output file type is different. Their brains thrive on mp3 while mine is over here loving life in xlsx. Neither is wrong, just different. I imagine if the goddess herself Taylor Swift needed to work in Excel she’d meet the same level of executive friction as I do trying to arrange music notes. The goal is determining your brain’s native output file type and working with it, not against it.
Sometimes I go to write a note and accidentally write a 600+ word essay draft on neurodivergence and breaking generational cycles before getting out of bed in the morning. That feeling is more energizing than coffee (see: NDs and stimulants) because I let my brain do its thing.
Everyone’s brain is optimized for something and, frequently, it’s not always obvious what that optimization is.