This Page Will Never Be in the Book

Most of these notes will never appear in a finished book, but every question, abandoned idea, and rough sketch helps the story find its way.

This page will never appear in a Journeys Of The Crew novel.

I'm okay with that.

In fact, I hope it never does.

If you looked over my shoulder while I was writing, you wouldn't see polished chapters or perfectly organized outlines. You'd probably find a notebook page covered with scribbles, arrows, crossed-out ideas, tiny sketches, and questions that don't seem connected to anything.

At first glance, it looks like a mess.

To me, it looks like progress.

One question might be circled three times. Another has already been crossed out because I realized it was leading the story in the wrong direction. An arrow points to a note in the margin. A quick sketch helps me picture a place that only exists in my imagination. Somewhere in the corner is a reminder to research something later, usually written quickly enough that I can barely read my own handwriting.

None of those pages are meant for readers.

They're where I think.

They're where I ask questions.

Sometimes the questions are simple.

Would an eleven-year-old actually notice this?

Sometimes they're surprisingly practical.

What would this place smell like after a spring rain?

Other times they're reminders to myself.

Too convenient.

Try again.

Slow down.

The answers don't always make it into the story.

But finding them almost always changes it.

One of my favorite parts of writing is crossing something out.

That probably sounds strange.

Most people see a crossed-out idea as a mistake.

I usually see it as evidence that I found something better.

Every line I erase gets me one step closer to the version that feels honest.

Every arrow connecting one thought to another represents a problem being solved.

Every little sketch helps me picture a world that, with enough patience, might eventually feel real to someone else.

By the time a chapter reaches readers, all of that work has disappeared.

The notebook stays on my desk.

The rough sketches stay in a folder.

The pages full of questions are tucked away, having quietly done their job.

Readers only see the finished adventure.

I think that's exactly how it should be.

Still, every now and then it's fun to pull back the curtain for a moment.

Not to reveal what happens next.

Just to show that every finished story begins the same way.

With one blank page.

A pencil.

And a lot more questions than answers.

Continue the Journey

For more about the invisible work behind a believable story, read The Things You’ll (Hopefully) Never Notice.

For a writing habit those messy pages sometimes reveal, read The Rule I Keep Breaking.