Throw away your opening paragraphs

At the end of a writing session, throw away your opening paragraphs. The real content in your writing, and your more natural writing voice, is not in the opening paragraphs: it lives deeper in your story.

Several times recently, upon re-reading what I had written, I found the first handful of paragraphs on a blog post so awful I chose to delete them instead of trying to fix them.

My writing method is simple: type

My writing method is simple: sit down at a blank screen and start typing.

I’ll usually have a specific point or concept I want to explore. That exploration may happen in my mind as I prepare to write, but something happens at the keyboard. Sometimes within a few paragraphs, sometimes after typing many paragraphs, the entire scope and character – and even the topic – begins to change.

My most recent post “What is the value of intuition?” started as an exploration of unexplainable, non-quantifiable, mysterious ways of reaching outstanding business decisions. In the week prior to that post, I thought about it as I drove to and from work, and returned to the thought often. I had a specific opening, middle, and closing in mind.

Permission to change the story

When I sat down at the keyboard, the entire focus changed after typing five paragraphs. Not only was the content different than what I had planned, but the voice had changed. My writing became much more personal and intense. Those first five paragraphs were stilted and formal, really quite horrible to read.

Instead of forcing myself to return to the topic I had chosen, I gave myself permission to just let the story flow. What emerged was much more personal and more substantial than anything I had thought up in the week leading up to that moment of creation.

It took a left turn

So I just typed…and typed…and typed. Jan wandered in and asked what I was writing about. “I’m not sure,” I said. “It took a left turn and I’m going with it to see where it takes me.”

As my story of being a young geologist emerged, I wondered if it would be meaningful to anyone else. I shut that thought down, because I sensed it would disrupt my writing flow.

Between sentences and paragraphs, I looked out the window, not really seeing the cloudy sky that morning, but remembering instead the clear blue skies over Nevada so long ago.

First five paragraphs: deleted

When I emerged from that intense writing state, I read what I had written. The first five paragraphs had nothing whatsoever to do with the story that had emerged. I cut them.

I read my closing paragraphs. There was not really a strong close, but as I thought about that, I realized that’s because I was writing about my life experience, and that experience didn’t just stop when the story did. There was no closure…until I wrote the story.

I did some cleanup on sentence structure, and modified a few bits and pieces. And then I posted it, sat back, and reflected on the memories brought back to life by writing about them.

I have more stories like that. Perhaps one will emerge soon as I sit down to type. I have set myself an easy goal: one new post a week. If more bubble up from wherever they come from, fantastic. But I’ve promised myself I will write once a week.

Creativity

This week, I’m reading about creativity, trying to better understand what happened when I started my post about intuition. Author Twyla Tharp‘s opening message is creative genius is the result of hard work and disciplined effort. I became interested in this book after reading about it on Merlin Mann’s 43 Folders blog.

I know I’m going to enjoy this book, and while reading it, I’ll be remembering those astounding moments of discovery I had in my career as a geologist.