Fattening the Seeds and Writing Out of Sequence

Fattening the Seeds

The author of the famous ‘Outlander’ series of books (and one of my favourite authors), Diana Gabaldon expanded on her writing process, and the reason why it would take her aaaages (say 3-4 years) before she publishes the next instalment.

She referenced the bits of the scene inside her head she could translate to written words as a ‘kernel’.

Sometimes, all I have is a seed. And when you’re a writer, even the smallest of seed is better than nothing.

Here was one such seed drumming inside my head recently.

EXCERPT from ‘THE LION’S DEN’, Copyright © 2024 Maria McDonald

“You couldn’t write me a note, could you?” She asked. “Excusing me out of school?”

“Just for today?” Lizzy continued as she risked a tiny sidelong glance at her father.

As seeds need water and fertiliser to grow, the above needs some fattening up to become a section.

But wait… As I re-read the above, my mind started conjuring up further ideas on how I could expand on the conversation. Like a camera zooming out, I could slowly make out the immediate surroundings the conversation took place; the feelings wrapped around the sentences. So, after toying with placing different words and sentences here and there and repeating the process a bunch of times (I may or may not have deleted and rewritten the sentences during the process!), the seed grew to become the following bud:

“You couldn’t write me a note, could you?” She asked as her father swerved the car into the nearest parking bay, the terror that had gripped her from the moment she woke up churning her stomach and prickling the hairs on her neck.

“Excusing me out of school?”

She pried her gaze from the window, feeling her father’s eyes on her even before she cast her imploring gaze at him.

“Just for today?” Lizzy added, her voice small and fearful.

Writing Out of Sequence

Unlike a landscaper methodically planting seed of flowers, vegetables or fruits, this particular seed – in addition to sprouting out all of a sudden – formed part of the end of the section.

Yet another common thing experienced by authors (Jodi Picoult and Michael Lewis have revealed how they often know the ending of their books, and have come up with the perfect concluding sentence before they even write a single word), now that I have some semblance of an ending, I need to incorporate the rest.

In addition to writing non-linearly (a topic worthy of its own blog post at a later stage), I also write out of sequence. Before I realise, the next string of sentences I have worked out was the actual end.

“I would, Lizzy, if I believe it would solve all of your problems.”

The hands tightly wringing her backpack and the breath she had subconsciously held failed to soften the blow. Still nursing the sucker punch of her father’s words, Lizzy schooled every muscle on her face from scowling as her father reached across the car console and tucked a small section of her hair behind her ear. With tears glazing her vision, her customary farewell kiss was nothing more than a barely there graze on her father’s cheek before she swiftly exited the Volvo.

To borrow Diana Gabaldon’s analogy, I now have a kernel, after all. Hopefully this will turn into a proper, full-blown cob, when the words for the beginning and the middle (not necessarily in that order) can flow; fluidly and coherently.